

O 0 

> \X* ^ *- Z x° ^ 

* _ - A " ^ s *P 

* , <>“ 




^ c 5 *’ to 




m- 


> W^vr < - ^ -«• 

' • * ;K' ° * ‘ >% • r * ;v ' * * ' v > ; *. . rv • • x 

xm\ ^ ^ w 


,V 


N 


.V .^ A v A ' v ' 

l\> - r 4 \W, 


n 




** v / % 

Hi, '••'* „ , 

\°o C 0 ' .‘ * 


^ s 

» c* ^ a\ 

* * + ^ ' 

* ^ ^ 3 *’: w ' 

r ® o 5 ^ >■ 

a> & ^ ^ . \ .cv’ 


i 



,.#V l 


' ” O f0 , ' ' V'*‘V * 3 s 0 ’ ' * 

** *^W 


8 I 


,0 





c- 

t <£ 


O 

.-,V 


o^ S'” s^c- * 3 

\ v •*«. 

r- if* 


° 0 \\ ^ 

•ft 

>- 

C- * 
c^* ^ 

N 0 0 \^> ^ >11 

N \j o ^ * 0 ^ ^ {\Y* S > A/ ^ 

*.*».• - A*' f>. 



'”' V 0 ,.. % V, so’° .#' ^ 



. * <0 C> <y _ ^ ' 

I ' n* s * * r ^ K ^ \ » ^ 



k t/> 

</> - 


</> ^ 


.^ v .% 


C* * 

* ' °.* * 
<y\'' ” ' <, ' i c. 


=» ll /i 


» -V^ ^ * $ 

^ a V • V 

^ i(y < 

, 0 ^ C° N '■ *■%. 






^ »0 C lfi V * % > *' V s - — 

« V. *$, ^jA^s^a . 0 ^ cr * 

- ^ ,^ v * ° v * 

,v <v o 



& 



" J? ^ V , 

vO y o » x * ^6 <* ‘ ** j . . «. s 4 A. 

, % cP* v % 


A 



s .'\ 

^ .o 1 "^ * O 


s ,0 


0 o 



•y V 

© o x 


* * *> 


C <b '** h 

T. % ° S 




'y V>- 

<* 'A 

A AV - 

tP i\y a: 


•* A ^ w 

\ » ^4 ^ < yi < // y/j* ^ ."v >»■ 

<* o^' /- ^LiA' ^ jv) -£> ^ , 

V> *'"»'. > A^ v\W*, C * 

^ ^ ^ ^ A 

V ^ “ 

«v> "A- 

* ^ v> ><' * 

A O v 

* ' G ««.^-' 


A 


? <?■ * ^ 



'Kc c 
5 V 


A V <p 

A 





<#• 




°o 0° 



* , 



\NJ <-' . luyTTC^S^ w => y\ *71#, 

> * x> ^ > sV ^ 

o 0 c> ✓ ^ A .^- ^ VA, A 

Cf >- * « ' A * s * * T °*t+ ° H - V i « 0 "> 1 o^ 

'• ^SJm>:'% « A^A * A -' 

^ V A. A %A ;■ 

- c5> ^ - ^SP’ o A ^ V <V ° 

A A r * * mZlillo^ A ° 


\ B 


: A A, l , 

V— 0 ~ c, .- 

1 °<2 r,° A ^ ^ . 

«- '*bo t *■ v 

^ ° ^ ^ * -S * A ” * 

o > — ,« / %■. 0 0 c 6 # 

.,%*•"•’ V A ,.., % - - 

' +*. .V. ” .S^.V •%. c > -'<#<%'. ^ AV 

.(AW A ~ ^ (A> y - Ap ,<V 

z 



% 

? -Vf> „ 







* 0 


« ( \^ V, V o 

^ ‘V «^>. •> 

A ^ * * s a\ V ' B ^ * 0 

R * sf> x ^ ^ 

; ^ A y ’°^ 

: f 0 * -^Kb'i A A. 

_. - , ~z-C/Af- a " ^ <T* > * o > <^ r t- 

*, vo^ \v ,. 0#> % »•»'* 

s s ** '* V ^ 1 ^ 

V ^ ^ A $4, -A /I f 

A v ^M= V 5 



> 


A' 


’ . V '- _ <1 T 

4i a -6 'X Ss,. 4^ 'Ty. . r A^y? 5 /! <* ,i» A 

lA'^ %/ *M: ^ | “ "' 

" z /' \ v0$K’ /% v ^ , 

's v A 'o.% 0 „,4 ,0 <* */..<', \ A .,, 

* a\ . ' 1 * « ^c O^ - c 0 N '■ « % A* v“ * 

.A *«/r?7?^* ° c ,'Ai'- ' r ^ .A' 



; aA A 

















GEORGINA 

OF THE RAINBOWS 

BY 

ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR OF “THE LITTLE COLONEL,” “MARY 
WARE IN TEXAS,” “GEORGINA^ 

SERVICE STARS,” ETC. 

FOREWORD 

BY GEORGE MADDEN MARTIN - 

AUTHOR OF “EMMY LOU’s ROAD TO GRACE,” ETC. 



“ . . . Still bear up and steer 

right onward milton 


D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK LONDON 

1920 





COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY 

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 


J 


Copyright, 1016, by Britton Publishing Company,’ Inc. 

[PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OE AMERICA 


7k is- j 
SEP 16 1920' 

£>CI,A597472 


V 


To 

My Little God-daughter 


“Anne Elizabeth” 



I 





“At the Tip of Old Cape Cod.” 



a 






% 













FOREWORD 


QIDNEY,” said I to a slender girl of eleven, 

^ child of a line of colonial and revolutionary 
forebears, “what is it that you love best in the stories 
of Annie Fellows Johnston?” 

The gray-blue eyes of Sidney dilated with convic- 
tion. “The way she tells them.” 

“Wanda,” I said to a foreign-born little acquaint- 
ance whose older sisters work in the woolen mills, 
“why do you always ask for the books of Mrs. 
Johnston when you come to read at the library?” 

Wanda is small and dark. “Because I learn things 
off her books to bring away. Her books is my 
friends. I find company when I go back home off 
her books.” 

“Renee,” I spoke this time to a tall and lovely 
girl about to leave her sixteen completed years be- 
hind her, a flower of French ancestry transplanted a 
century and more ago to America, “what do the 
books of Mrs. Johnston mean to you now that you 
are so nearly grown?” 

The always lovely color in the cheeks of Renee 
deepened. She spoke with a touch of pretty rapture. 

“I find the books of Mrs. Johnston are put away 
on the shelf of my mind with those of one especial 


vi^ Foreword 

other that I re^d and loved at that same time — 
Longfellow.” 

“And why with Longfellow, do you suppose, Re- 
nee ?” 

Renee is intelligent. “I think we as children live 
— without being aware of it ourselves, and more 
than adults realize — in and through the vision . To 
me, Mrs. Johnston and Longfellow in their separate 
ways see life after the same fashion.” 

Renee’s color ^aved yet higher and she repeated 
softly: 

“ All things are symbols ; the external shows 
Of Nature have their image in the mind ” 

Thinking over these three responses I am of a 
mind that first Sidney, then Wanda, and lastly Renee, 
in their several ways of expressing the same thing, 
are quite right. That the secret of Mrs. Johnston’s 
charm for the pre-adolescent mind of girlhood; the 
explanation of the fact that her books on the deal- 
ers’ shelves greet the eye of the traveler in Cathay 
as in Keokuk, in Tokio as in the Pennsylvania sta- 
tion in New York, in Manila, Melbourne, Johan- 
nesburg, Stockholm, Montreal and Victoria, as in 
Texas, California and Maine; the secret of this hold 
on the imagination of childhood lies, as Sidney says, 
in the way she tells her stories. 

“I will open my mouth in a parable,” is Renee’s 
way of diagramming what Sidney states more baldly. 


Foreword vii 

“Thou shalt never get such a secret from me but 
by a parable says Mrs. Johnston in her turn to 
dark-eyed Wanda. 

In other words, Mrs. Johnston, remembering her 
own childhood, depicts life as a child sees it. 

Children naturally are poets if only we adults 
would remember this. In their games, handed down 
from generation to generation, are all the elements 
of poetry; story, drama, lyric utterance, rhyme and 
rhythm. 

Children love imaginative play. Heralded by the 
ritual phrase, “let’s pretend they live the life of 
the world and the race. 

Emotional life is the most prominent feature of 
early girlhood. Hero-worship, which is to say de- 
votion to the ideal, is characteristic of children of 
both sexes. Children being allowed to seek their 
own books so far as to indicate the nature of the 
food to satisfy their craving, make it unmistakable 
that those books have an enduring interest for youth 
which hold up ideals of service, courage and devo- 
tion. 

Mrs. Johnston is the writer who, since Louisa 
M. Alcott, is beloved of girlhood. Girls full of 
fun, very much alive, having their full share of hu- 
man faults, literally by the hundreds of thousands 
are her readers. 

I have come on the claim somewhere recently that, 
although children’s knowledge of life and living is 


viii Foreword 

less than the adult’s, and the range of their interests 
is limited by the boundaries of their experience, 
yet their minds within those boundaries are quite as 
good as the adult’s, their taste often is better, and 
their reactions are immediate and honest. Myself 
I would rate it high honor indeed to be held in the 
unique esteem given by children everywhere to An- 
nie Fellows Johnston. 

I have spoken of the emotional inner life of the 
young girl. This includes perforce, the sentimental 
craving, co-dweller in the heart of girlhood with 
the romantic. Because of Mrs. Johnston’s response 
to this appeal in her readers, she even might be 
called the young girl’ s novelist. 

I seem to speak of these appreciators as peculi- 
arly feminine. There is reason to qualify this. 

The home of the creator of The Little Colonel 
and Georgian of the Rainbows , is in Pewee Val- 
ley, Kentucky, fifteen miles from the city of Louis- 
ville. 

During the Great War just over, probably one 
hundred thousand drafted boys at one time and an- 
other were stationed at Camp Zachary Taylor, 
Louisville. Mrs. Johnston at all times dispenses a 
ready hospitality, her gracious and ample home in 
its setting of Kentucky beeches being the objective 
of pilgrimages made by youth from all sections of 
the country. 

But she was not prepared, though deeply touched 


Foreword ix 

and much delighted, to find herself and her home 
the objective of a constantly replenished stream of 
big and shyly beaming doughboys. Some came at 
the behest and the injunction of far-away sisters, 
or sweethearts; others to gratify themselves; all, in 
their various vocal or non-vocal ways, acquainted 
with Mrs. Johnston’s books, and come to tell her so. 

There is a reason for this continued response by 
young people; a reason for the letters which come 
to Mrs. Johnston daily from mothers and daugh- 
ters alike from all corners of the world. 

There is plot in her stories; no writer for chil- 
dren knows better than she how to tell a story; there 
are surprises in her tales; there are symbols, para- 
bles and allegories; there is gayety and there is 
laughter. Her characters are alive. There is what 
childhood insists upon and will have, a happy way 
out for them as well as for the characters of the 
tale. But to one reader at least, and that the writer 
of these few words of appreciation, there is no will- 
ing descent to tawdriness and cheap guile. I have 
said alike for childhood and for Mrs. Johnston 
that both in their ways live close to poesy. Mrs. 
Johnston, by virtue of her sympathetic imagination, 
reenters the world of girlhood and consorts with 
the young people she finds there. 

It is a great privilege to be a writer for chil- 
dren, but it carries with it a staggering responsi- 
bility; knowing, as such writers must, that their 


x Foreword 

readers, in accepting the food thus offered them, 
inevitably will suffer or will benefit. Will suffer 
according as they experience a loss of childhood’s 
shining and generous illusions; will benefit in pro- 
portion as they receive a strengthening and heart- 
ening of their faiths. 

Through books the young people of the modern 
world come, or not, to a broader knowledge of 
their world, their fellow-creatures and themselves. 
Through the written word they are led, or not, 
toward the truth. And by a growing comprehension 
of truth do they grow toward wisdom. 

Of themselves, so it appears, the children of to- 
day, lifting the mantle fallen from the shoulders 
of Louisa M. Alcott, have placed the same upon the 
shoulders of Annie Fellows Johnston. 

George Madden Martin 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Her Earlier Memories ... n 

II. Georgina’s Playmate Mother 22 

III. The Towncrier Has His Say . 30 

IV. New Friends and the Green 

Stairs . 40 

V. In the Footsteps of Pirates . 51 

VI. Spend-the-Day Guests ... 63 

VII. “The Tishbite” 77 

VIII. The Telegram That Took 

Barby Away 86 

IX. The Birthday Prism .... 96 

X. Moving Pictures 111 

XI. The Old Rifle Gives Up Its 

Secret i£4 

XII. A Hard Promise 135 

XIII. Lost and Found at the Lini- 

ment Wagon 14 1 

XIV. Buried Treasure 154 

XV. A Narrow Escape 161 

XVI. What the Storm Did . . . . 169 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XVII. In the Keeping of the Dunes 178 

XVIII. Found Out 187 

XIX. Tracing the Liniment Wagon 198 

XX. Dance of the Rainbow Fairies 209 
XXL On the Trail of the Wild-Cat 

Woman 218 

XXII. The Rainbow Game .... 230 

XXIII. Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 244 
XXIV. A Contrast in Fathers . . . 258 

XXV. A Letter to Hong-Kong . . . 272 

XXVI. Peggy Joins the Rainbow- 

Makers .- . . . ... 283 

XXVII. A Modern “St. George and the 

Dragon” 291 

XXVIII. The Doctor’s Discovery . . 304 

XXIX. While They Waited . . . . 317 

XXX. Nearing the End 329 

XXXI. Comings and Goings .... 336 


5< As Long as a Man Keeps Hope 
at the Prow He Keeps Afloat.” 




“Put a Rainbow ’Round Your 
T roubles. ’ ’ — Georgina. 


Georgina of the Rainbows 


CHAPTER I 

HER EARLIER MEMORIES 

TF old Jeremy Clapp had not sneezed his teeth 
A into the fire that winter day this story might have 
had a more seemly beginning; but, being a true rec- 
ord, it must start with that sneeze, because it*was the 
first happening in Georgina Huntingdon’s life which 
she could remember distinctly. 

She was in her high-chair by a window overlook- 
ing a gray sea, and with a bib under her chin, was 
being fed dripping spoonfuls of bread and milk from 
the silver porringer which rested on the sill. The 
bowl was almost on a level with her little blue shoes 
which she kept kicking up and down on the step of 
her high-chair, wherefore the restraining hand which 
seized her ankles at intervals. It was Mrs. Trip- 
lett’s firm hand which clutched her, and Mrs. Trip- 
lett’s firm hand which fed her, so there was not the 
usual dilly-dallying over Georgina’s breakfast as 
when her mother held the spoon. She always made a 
game of it, chanting nursery rhymes in a gay, silver- 
bell-cockle-shell sort of way, as if she were one of 

ii 


12 Georgina of the Rainbows 

the “pretty maids all in a row,” just stepped out of 
a picture book. 

Mrs. Triplett was an elderly widow, a distant rela- 
tive of the family, who lived with them. “Tippy”, 
the child called her before she could speak plainly — j 
a foolish name for such a severe and dignified person, 
but Mrs. Triplett rather seemed to like it. Being 
the working housekeeper, companion and everything 
else which occasion required, she had no time to make 
a game of Georgina’s breakfast, even if she had 
known how. Not once did she stop to say, “Curly- 
locks, Curly-locks, wilt thou be mine?” or to press 
her face suddenly against Georgina’s dimpled rose- 
leaf cheek as if it were somthing too temptingly dear 
and sweet to be resisted. She merely said, “Here!” 
each time she thrust the spoon towards her. 

Mrs. Triplett was in an especial hurry this morn- 
ing, and did not even look up when old Jeremy came 
into the room to put more wood on the fire. In win- 
ter, when there was no garden work, Jeremy did 
everything about the house which required a man’s 
hand. Although he must have been nearly eighty 
years old, he came in, tall and unbending, with a big 
log across his shoulder. He walked stiffly, but his 
back was as straight as the long poker with which 
he mended the fire. 

Georgina had seen him coming and going about 
the place every day since she had been brought to 
live in this old gray house beside the sea, but this 


Her Earlier Memories 13 

was the first time he had made any lasting impression 
upon her memory. Henceforth, she was to carry 
with her as long as she should live the picture of a 
hale, red-faced old man with a woolen muffler wound 
around his lean throat. His knitted “wrist-warm- 
ers” slipped down over his mottled, deeply-veined 
hands when he stooped to roll the log into the fire. 
He let go with a grunt. The next instant a mighty 
sneeze seized him, and Georgina, who had been gaz- 
ing in fascination at the shower of sparks he was 
making, saw all of his teeth go flying into the fire. 

If his eyes had suddenly dropped from their sock- 
ets upon the hearth, or his ears floated ofi from the 
sides of his head, she could not have been more ter- 
rified, for she had not yet learned that one’s teeth 
may be a separate part of one’s anatomy. It was 
such a terrible thing to see a man go to pieces in 
this undreamed-of fashion, that she began to scream 
and writhe around in her high-chair until it nearly 
turned over. 

She did upset the silver porringer, and what was 
left of the bread and milk splashed out on the floor, 
barely missing the rug. Mrs. Triplett sprang to 
snatch her from the toppling chair, thinking the child 
was having a spasm. She did not connect it with old 
Jeremy’s sneeze until she heard his wrathful gibber- 
ing, and turned to see him holding up the teeth, 
which he had fished out of the fire with the tongs. 

They were an old-fashioned set such as one never 


14 Georgina of the Rainbows 

sees now. They had been made in England. They 
were hinged together like jaws, and Georgina yelled 
again as she saw ’them all blackened and gaping, 
dangling from the tongs. It was not the grinning 
teeth themselves, however, which frightened her. 
It was the awful knowledge, vague though it was to 
her infant mind, that a human body could fly apart 
in that way. And Tippy, not understanding the 
cause of her terror, never thought to explain that 
they w T ere false and had been made by a man in 
some out-of-the-way corner of Yorkshire, instead 
of by the Almighty, and that their removal was pain- 
less. 

It was several years before Georgina learned the 
truth, and the impression made by the accident grew 
into a lurking fear which often haunted her as time 
wore on. She never knew at what moment she might 
fly apart herself. That it was a distressing ex- 
perience she knew from the look on old Jeremy’s 
face and the desperate pace at which he set off to 
have himself mended. 

She held her breath long enough to hear the door 
bang shut after him and his hob-nailed shoes go 
scrunch, scrunch, through the gravel of the path 
around the house, then she broke out crying again 
so violently that Tippy had hard work quieting her. 
She picked up the silver porringer from the floor 
and told her to look at the pretty bowl. The fall 
had put a dent into its side. And what would 


Her Earlier Memories 


15 

Georgina’s great-great aunt have said could she have 
known what was going to happen to her handsome 
dish, poor lady ! Surely she never would have left it 
to such a naughty namesake! Then, to stop her 
sobbing, Mrs. Triplett took one tiny finger-tip in her 
large ones, and traced the name which was engraved 
around the rim in tall, slim-looped letters : the name 
which had passed down through many christenings 
to its present owner, “Georgina Huntingdon.” 

Failing thus to pacify the frightened child, Mrs. 
Triplett held her up to the window overlooking the 
harbor, and dramatically bade her “hark!” Stand- 
ing with her blue shoes on the w r indow-sill, and a tear 
on each pink cheek, Georgina flattened her nose 
against the glass and obediently listened. 

The main street of the ancient seaport town, upon 
which she gazed expectantly, curved three miles 
around the harbor, and the narrow board-walk which 
ran along one side of it all the way, ended abruptly 
just in front of the house in a waste of sand. So 
there was nothing to be seen but a fishing boat at 
anchor, and the waves crawling up the beach, and 
nothing to be heard but the jangle of a bell some- 
where down the street. The sobs broke out again. ' 

“Hush!” commanded Mrs. Triplett, giving her 
an impatient shake. “Hark to what’s coming up 
along. Can’t you stop a minute and give the Town- 
crier a chance ? Or is it you’re trying to outdo him ?” 

The word “Towncrier” was meaningless to 


16 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Georgina. There was nothing by that name in her 
linen book which held the pictures of all the animals 
from Ape to Zebra, and there was nothing by that 
name down in Kentucky where she had lived all of 
her short life until these last few weeks. She did 
not even know whether what Mrs. Triplett said was 
coming along would be wearing a hat or horns. The 
cow that lowed at the pasture bars every night back 
in Kentucky jangled a bell. Georgina had no dis- 
tinct recollection of the cow, but because of it the 
sound of a bell was associated in her mind with horns. 
So horns were what she halfway expected to see, as 
she watched breathlessly, with her face against the 
glass. 

“Hark to what he’s calling !” urged Mrs. Triplett. 
“A fish auction. There’s a big boat in this morning 
with a load of fish, and the Towncrier is telling every- 
body about it.” 

So a Towncrier was a man! The next instant 
Georgina saw him. He was an old man, with bent 
shoulders and a fringe of gray hair showing under 
the fur cap pulled down to meet his ears. But there 
was such a happy twinkle in his faded blue eyes, such 
goodness of heart in every wrinkle of the weather- 
beaten old face, that even the grumpiest people 
smiled a little when they met him, and everybody he 
spoke to stepped along a bit more cheerful, just be' 
cause the hearty way he said “Good morning !” made 
the day seem really good. 


Her Earlier Memories 17 

“He’s cold,” said Tippy. “Let’s tap on the win- 
dow and beckon him to come in and warm himself 
before he starts back to town.” 

She caught up Georgina’s hand to make it do the 
gapping, thinking it would please her to give her a 
share in the invitation, but in her touchy frame of 
mind it was only an added grievance to have her 
knuckles knocked against the pane, and her wails 
began afresh as the old man, answering the signal, 
shook his bell at her playfully, and turned towards 
the house. 

As to what happened after that, Georgina’s mem- 
ory is a blank, save for a confused recollection of 
being galloped to Banbury Cross on somebody’s 
knee, while a big hand helped her to clang the clap- 
per of a bell far too heavy for her to swing alone. 
But some dim picture of the kindly face puckered into 
smiles for her comforting, stayed on in her mind as 
an object seen through a fog, and thereafter she 
never saw the Towncrier go kling-klanging along the 
street without feeling a return of that same sense of 
safety which his song gave her that morning. Some- 
how, it restored her confidence in all Creation which 
Jeremy’s teeth had shattered in their fall. 

Taking advantage of Georgina’s contentment at 
being settled on the visitor’s knee, Mrs. Triplett hur- 
ried for a cloth to wipe up the bread and milk. 
Kneeling on the floor beside it she sopped it up so 
energetically that what she was saying came in jerks. 


18 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“It’s a mercy you happened along, Mr. Darcy, or 
she might have been screaming yet. I never saw a 
child go into such a sudden tantrum.” 

The answer came in jerks also, for it took a vigor- 
ous trotting of the knees to keep such a heavy child 
as Georgina on the bounce. And in order that his 
words might not interfere with the game he sang 
them to the tune of “Ride a Cock Horse.” 

“There must have been — some very good 

Reason for such — a hulla-ba-loo!” 

“I’ll tell you when I come back,” said Mrs. Trip- 
lett, on her feet again by this time and halfway to 
the kitchen with the dripping floor cloth. But when 
she reappeared in the doorway her own concerns had 
crowded out the thought of old Jeremy’s misfor- 
tune. 

“My yeast is running all over the top of the crock, 
Mr. Darcy, and if I don’t get it mixed right away 
the whole baking will be spoiled.” 

“That’s all right, ma’am,” was the answer. “Go 
ahead with your dough. I’ll keep the little lass out 
r of mischief. Many’s the time I have sat by this fire 
with her father on my knee, as you know. But it’s 
been years since I was in this room last.” 

There was a long pause in the Banbury Cross ride. 
The Crier was looking around the room from one 
familiar object to another with the gentle wistful- 


Her Earlier Memories 19 

ness which creeps into old eyes when they peer into 
the past for something that has ceased to be. 
Georgina grew impatient. 

“More ride !” she commanded, waving her hands . 
and clucking her tongue as he had just taught her tod 
do. 

“Don’t let her worry you, Mr. Darcy,” called 
Mrs. Triplett from the kitchen. “Her mother will 
be back from the post-office most any minute now. 
Just send her out here to me if she gets too bother- 
some.” 

Instantly Georgina cuddled her head down against 
his shoulder. She had no mind to be separated 
from this new-found playfellow. When he produced 
a battered silver watch from the pocket of his vel- 
veteen waistcoat, holding it over her ear, she was 
charmed into a prolonged silence. The clack of 
Tippy’s spoon against the crock came in from the 
kitchen, and now and then the fire snapped or the 
green fore-log made a sing-song hissing. 

More than thirty years had passed by since the 
old Towncrier first visited the Huntingdon home. 
He was not the Towncrier then, but a seafaring man 
who had sailed many times around the globe, and 
had his fill of adventure. Tired at last of such a 
roving life, he had found anchorage to his liking 
in this quaint old fishing town at the tip end of Cape 
Cod. Georgina’s grandfather, George Justin Hunt- 
ingdon, a judge and a writer of dry law books, had 


20 Georgina of the Rainbows 

been one of the first to open his home to him. They 
had been great friends, and little Justin, now Geor- 
gina’s father, had been a still closer friend. Many a 
day they had spent together, these two, fishing or 
blueberrying or tramping across the dunes. The boy 
called him “Uncle Darcy,” tagging after him like a 
shadow, and feeling a kinship in their mutual love of 
adventure which drew as strongly as family ties. 
The Judge always said that it was the old sailor’s 
yarns of sea life which sent Justin into the navy “in- 
stead of the law office where he belonged.” 

As the old man looked down at Georgina’s soft, 
brown curls pressed against his shoulder, and felt 
her little dimpled hand lying warm on his neck, he 
could almost believe it was the same child who had 
crept into his heart thirty years ago. It was hard to 
think of the little lad as grown, or as filling the re- 
sponsible position of a naval surgeon. Yet when he 
counted back he realized that the Judge had been 
dead several years, and the house had been stand- 
ing empty all that time. Justin had never been back 
since it was boarded up. He had written occasion- 
ally during the first of his absence, but only boyish 
scrawls which told little about himself. 

The only real news which the old man had of him 
was in the three clippings from the Provincetown 
Beacon, which he carried about in his wallet. The 
first was a mention of Justin’s excellent record in 
fighting a fever epidemic in some naval station in the 


Her Earlier Memories 21 

tropics. The next was the notice of his marriage to 
a Kentucky girl by the name of Barbara Shirley, and 
the last was a paragraph clipped from a newspaper 
dated only a few weeks back. It said that Mrs. Jus- 
tin Huntingdon and little daughter, Georgina, would 
arrive soon to take possession of the old Hunting- 
don homestead which had been closed for many 
years. During the absence of her husband, serving 
in foreign parts, she would have with her Mrs. Maria 
Triplett. 

The Towncrier had known Mrs. Triplett as long 
as he had known the town. She had been kind to 
him when he and his wife were in great trouble. He 
was thinking about that time now, because it had 
something to do with his last visit to the Judge in 
this very room. She had happened to be present, 
too. And the green fore-log had made that same 
sing-song hissing. The sound carried his thoughts 
back so far that for a few moments he ceased to hear 
the clack of the spoon. 


CHAPTER II 


Georgina’s playmate mother 
S the ^owncrier’s revery brought him around to 



Mrs. Triplett’s part in the painful scene which 
he was recalling, he heard her voice, and looking up, 
saw that she had come back into the room, and was 
standing by the window. 

“There’s Justin’s wife now, Mr. Darcy, coming 
up the beach. Poor child, she didn’t get her letter. 
I can tell she’s disappointed from the way she walks 
along as if she could hardly push against the wind.” 

The old man, leaning sideways over the arm of his 
chair, craned his neck toward the window to peer 
out, but he did it without dislodging Georgina, who 
was repeating the “tick-tick” of the watch in a whis- 
per, as she lay contentedly against the Towncrier’s 
shoulder. 

“She’s naught but a slip of a girl,” he commented, 
referring to Georgina’s mother, slowly drawing into 
closer view. “She must be years younger than Jus- 
in. She came up to me in the post-office last week 
and told me who she was, and I’ve been intending 
ever since to get up this far to talk with her about 


him.” 


22 


Georgina’s Playmate Mother 23 

As they watched her she reached the end of the 
board-walk, and plunging ankle-deep into the sand, 
trudged slowly along as if pushed back by the wind. 
It whipped her skirts about her and blew the ends 
of her fringed scarf back over her shoulder. She 
made a bright flash of color against the desolate 
background. Scarf, cap and thick knitted reefer 
were all of a warm rose shade. Once she stopped, 
and with hands thrust into her reefer pockets, stood 
looking ofl towards the lighthouse on Long Point. 
Mrs. Triplett spoke again, still watching her. 

“I didn’t want to take Justin’s offer when he first 
wrote to me, although the salary he named was a 
good one, and I knew the work wouldn’t be more 
than I’ve always been used to. But I had planned 
to stay in Wellfleet this winter, and it always go^es 
against the grain with me to have to change a plan 
once made. I only promised to stay until she was 
comfortably settled. A Portugese woman on one 
of the back streets would have come and cooked for 
her. But land! When I saw how strange and lone- 
some she seemed and how she turned to me for 
everything, I didn’t have the heart to say go. I 
only named it once to her, and she sort of choked up 
and winked back the tears and said in that soft- 
spoken Southern way of hers, ‘Oh, don’t leave me, 
Tippy!’ She’s taken to calling me Tippy, just as 
Georgina does. ‘When you talk about it I feel like 
a kitten shipwrecked on a desert island. It’s all so 


24 Georgina of the Rainbows 

strange and dreadful here with just sea on one side 
and sand dunes on the other.’ ” 

At the sound of her name, Georgina suddenly sat 
up straight and began fumbling the watch back into 
the velveteen pocket. She felt that it was time for 
her to come into the foreground again. 

“More ride!” she demanded. The galloping 
began again, gently at first, then faster and faster 
in obedience to her wishes, until she seemed only a 
swirl of white dress and blue ribbon and flying brown 
curls. But this time the giddy going up and down 
was in tame silence. There was no accompanying 
song to make the game lively. Mrs. Triplett had 
more to say, and Mr. Darcy was too deeply inter- 
ested to sing. 

“Look at her now, stopping to read that sign set 
up on the spot where the Pilgrims landed. She does 
that every time she passes it. Says it cheers her up 
something wonderful, no matter how downhearted 
she is, to think that she wasn’t one of the Mayflower 
passengers, and that she’s nearly three hundred years 
away from their hardships and that dreadful first 
wash-day of theirs. Does seem to me though, that’s 
a poor way to make yourself cheerful, just thinking, 
of all the hard times you might have had but didn’t.” 

“Thing it!” lisped Georgina, wanting undivided 
attention, and laying an imperious little hand on his 
cheek to force it “Thing!” 

He shook his head reprovingly, with a finger 


Georgina’s Playmate Mother 25 

across his lips to remind her that Mrs. Triplett was 
still talking; but she was not to be silenced in such 
a way. Leaning over until her mischievous brown 
eyes compelled him to look at her, she smiled like 
a dimpled cherub. Georgina’s smile was something 
.irresistible when she wanted her own way. 

“Pleathe!” she lisped, her face so radiantly sure 
that no one could be hardhearted enough to resist the 
magic appeal of that word, that he could not dis- 
appoint her. 

“The little witch!” he- exclaimed. “She could 
wheedle the fish out of the sea if she’d say please 
to ’em that way. But how that honey-sweet tone and 
the yells she was letting loose awhile back could 
come out of that same little rose of a mouth, passes 
my understanding.” 

Mrs. Triplett had left them again and he was 
singing at the top of his quavering voice, “Rings on 
her fingers and bells on her toes,” when the front 
door opened and Georgina’s mother came in. The 
salt wind had blown color into her cheeks as bright 
as her rose-pink reefer. Her disappointment about 
the letter had left a wistful shadow in her big gray 
eyes, but it changed to a light of pleasure when she 
saw who was romping with Georgina. They were 
so busy with their game that neither of them noticed 
her entrance. 

She closed the door softly behind her and stood 
with her back against it watching them a moment. 


26 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Then Georgina spied her, and with a rapturous cry 
of “Barby!” scrambled down and ran to throw her- 
self into her mother’s arms, Barby was her way of 
saying Barbara. It was the first word she had ever 
spoken and her proud young mother encouraged her 
to repeat it, even when her Grandmother Shirley in- 
sisted that it wasn’t respectful for a child to call its 
mother by her first name. 

“But I don’t care whether it is or not,” Barbara 
had answered. “All I want is for her to feel that 
we’re the best chums in the world. And I’m not go- 
ing to spoil her even if I am young and inexperienced. 
There are a few things that I expect to be very strict 
about, but making her respectful to me isn’t one of 
them.” 

Now one of the things which Barbara had decided 
to be very strict about in Georgina’s training was 
making her respectful to guests. She was not to 
thrust herself upon their notice, she was not to inter- 
rupt their conversation, or make a nuisance of her- 
self. So, young as she was, Georgina had already 
learned what was expected of her, when her mother 
having greeted Mr. Darcy and laid aside her wraps, 
:drew up to the fire to talk to him. But instead of 
doing the expected thing, Georgina did the forbid- 
den. Since the old man’s knees were crossed so that 
she could no longer climb upon them, she attempted 
to seat herself on his foot, clamoring, “Do it again !” 

“No, dear,” Barbara said firmly. “Uncle Darcy’s 


Georgina’s Playmate Mother 27 

rired.” She had noticed the long-drawn sigh of re- 
lief with which he ended the last gallop. “He’s 
going to tell us about father when he was a little boy 
no bigger than you. So come here to Barby and 
listen or else go off to your own corner and play 
with your whirligig.” 

Usually, at the mention of some particularly pleas- 
ing toy Georgina would trot off happily to find it; 
but to-day she stood with her face drawn into a re- 
bellious pucker and scowled at her mother savagely. 
Then throwing herself down on the rug she began 
kicking her blue shoes up and down on the hearth, 
roaring, “No! No!” at the top of her voice. Bar- 
bara paid no attention at first, but finding it impos- 
sible to talk with such a noise going on, dragged her 
up from the floor and looked around helplessly, con- 
sidering what to do with her. Then she remembered 
the huge wicker clothes hamper, standing empty in 
the kitchen, and carrying her out, gently lowered her 
into it. 

It was so deep that even on tiptoe Georgina could 
not look over the rim. All she could see was the 
ceiling directly overhead. The surprise of such a 
, v novel punishment made her hold her breath to find 
' what was going to happen next, and in the stillness 
she heard her mother say calmly as she walked out of 
the room: “If she roars any more, Tippy, just put 
the lid on; but as soon as she is ready to act like a 
little lady, lift her out, please.” 


28 Georgina of the Rainbows 

The strangeness of her surroundings kept her quiet 
a moment longer, and in that moment she discovered 
that by putting one eye to a loosely-woven spot in the 
hamper she could see what Mrs. Triplett was doing. 
She was polishing the silver porringer, trying to rub 
out the dent which the fall had made in its side. It 
was such an interesting kitchen, seen through this 
peep-hole that Georgina became absorbed in rolling 
her eye around for wider views. Then she found 
another outlook on the other side of the hamper, 
and was quiet so long that Mrs. Triplett came over 
and peered down at her to see what was the matter* 
Georgina looked up at her with a roguish smile. 
One never knew how she was going to take a punish- 
ment or what she would do next. 

“Are you ready to be a little lady now? Want me 
to lift you out?” Both little arms were stretched joy- 
ously up to her, and a voice of angelic sweetness said 
coaxingly: “Pleathe, Tippy.” 

The porringer was in Mrs. Triplett’s hand when 
she leaned over the hamper to ask the question. The 
gleam of its freshly-polished sides caught Georgina’s 
attention an instant before she was lifted out, and 
it was impressed on her memory still more deeply 
by being put into her own hands afterwards as she 
sat in Mrs. Triplett’s lap. Once more her tiny fin- 
ger’s tip was made to trace the letters engraved 
around the rim, as she was told about her great-great 
aunt and what was expected of her. The solemn 


Georgina’s Playmate Mother 29 

tone clutched her attention as firmly as the hand 
which held her, and somehow, before she was set 
free, she was made to feel that because of that old 
porringer she was obliged to be a little lady. 

Tippy was not one who could sit calmly by and 
see a child suffer for lack of proper instruction, and 
while Georgina never knew just how it was done, the 
fact was impressed upon her as years went by that 
there w T ere many things which she could not do, 
simply because she was a Huntingdon and because 
her name had been graven for so many generations 
around that shining silver rim. 

Although to older eyes the happenings of diat 
morning were trivial, they were far-reaching in their 
importance to Georgina, for they gave her three 
memories — Jeremy’s teeth, the Towncrier’s bell, and 
her own name on the porringer — to make a deep im- 
pression on all her after-life. 



CHAPTER III 


THE TOWNCRIER HAS HIS SAY 

npHE old Huntingdon house with its gray gables 
and stone chimneys, stood on the beach near the 
breakwater, just beyond the place where everything 
seemed to come to an end. The house itself marked 
the end of the town. Back of it the dreary dunes 
stretched away toward the Atlantic, and in front the 
Cape ran out in a long, thin tongue of sand between 
the bay and the harbor, with a lighthouse on its 
farthest point. It gave one the feeling of being at 
the very tip end of the world to look across and see 
the water closing in on both sides. Even the road 
ended in front of the house in a broad loop in which 
machines could turn around. 

In summer there was always a string of sightseers 
coming up to this end of the beach. They came to 
read the tablet erected on the spot known to Geor- 
gina as “holy ground,” because it marked the first 
landing of the Pilgrims. Long before she could read, 
Mrs. Triplett taught her to lisp part of a poem which 
said: 


“dye, call it holy ground, 

The thoil where firth they trod ” 
30 


The Towncrier Has His Say 31 

She taught it to Georgina because she thought it 
was only fair to Justin that his child should grow 
up to be as proud of her New England home as she 
was of her Southern one. Barbara was always sing- 
ing to her about “My Old Kentucky Home,” and 
“Going Back to Dixie,” and when they played to- 
gether on the beach their favorite game was build- 
ing Grandfather Shirley’s house in the sand. 

Day after day they built it up with shells and 
wet sand and pebbles, even to the stately gate posts 
topped by lanterns. Twigs of bayberry and wild 
beach plum made trees with which to border its ave- 
nues, and every dear delight of swing and arbor and 
garden pool beloved in Barbara’s play-days, was re- 
produced in miniature until Georgina loved them, 
too. She knew just where the bee-hives ought to be 
put, and the sun-dial, and the hole in the fence where 
the little pigs squeezed through. There was a story 
for everything. By the time she had outgrown her 
lisp she could make the whole fair structure by her- 
self, without even a suggestion from Barbara. 

When she grew older the shore was her school- 
room also. She learned to read from letters traced 
in the sand, and to make them herself with shells 
and pebbles. She did her sums that way, too, after 
she had learned to count the sails in the harbor, the 
gulls feeding at ebb-tide, and the great granite blocks 
which formed the break-water. 

Mrs. Triplett’s time for lessons was when Geor- 


32 Georgina of the Rainbows 

gina was following her about the house. Such fol- 
lowing taught her to move briskly, for Tippy, like 
time and tide, never waited, and it behooved one to 
be close at her heels if one would see what she put 
into a pan before she whisked it into the oven. Also 
it was necessary to keep up with her as she moved 
swiftly from the cellar to the pantry if one would 
hear her thrilling tales of Indians and early settlers 
and brave forefathers of colony times. 

There was a powder horn hanging over the din- 
ing room mantel, which had been in the battle of 
Lexington, and Tippy expected Georgina to find the 
same inspiration in it which she did, because the 
forefather who carried it was an ancestor of each. 

“The idea of a descendant of one of the Minute- 
men being afraid of rats!” she would say with a 
scornful rolling of her words which seemed to -wither 
her listener with ridicule. “Or of an empty gar- 
ret! Tut !” 

When Georgina was no more than six, that dis- 
gusted “Tut!” would start her instantly down a 
dark cellar-way or up into the dreaded garret, even 
when she could feel the goose-flesh rising all over 
her. Between the porringer, which obliged her to 
be a little lady, and the powder horn, which obliged 
her to be brave, even while she shivered, some times 
Georgina felt that she had almost too much to live 
up to. There were times when she was sorry that 
she had ancestors. She was proud to think that one 


The Towncrier Has His Say 33 

of them shared in the honors of the tall Pilgrim 
monument overlooking the town and harbor, but 
there were days when she would have traded him 
gladly far an hour’s play with two little Portugese 
boys a"d their sister, who often wandered up to the 
dunes back of the house. 

She had watched them often enough to know that 
their names were Manuel and Joseph and Rosa. 
They were beautiful children, such as some of the 
old masters delighted to paint, but they fought and 
quarreled and — Tippy said — used “shocking lan- 
guage.” That is why Georgina was not allowed to 
play with them, but she often stood at the back gate 
watching them, envying their good times together 
and hoping to hear a sample of their shocking lan- 
guage. 

One day when they strolled by dragging a young 
puppy in a rusty saucepan by a string tied to the 
handle, the temptation to join them overcame her. 
Inch by inch her hand moved up nearer the forbid- 
den gate latch and she was just slipping through when 
old Jeremy, hidden behind a hedge where he was 
weeding the borders, rose up like an all-seeing dragon 
and roared at her, “Coom away, lass! Ye maun’t 
do that!” 

She had not known that he was anywhere 
around, and the voice coming suddenly out of the 
unseen startled her so that her heart seemed; to 
jump up into her throat. It made her angry, too. 


34 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Only the moment before she had heard Rosa scream 
at Manuel, “You ain’t my boss; shut your big 
mouth !” 

It was on the tip of her tongue to scream the same 
thing at old Jeremy and see what would happen. She 
felt, instinctively, that this was shocking language. 
But she had not yet outgrown the lurking fear which 
always seized her in his presence that either her 
teeth or his might fly out if she wasn’t careful, so 
she made no answer. But compelled to vent her in- 
ward rebellion in some way, she turned her back on 
the hedge that screened him and shook the gate till 
the latch rattled. 

Looking up she saw the tall Pilgrim monument 
towering over the town like a watchful giant. She 
had a feeling that it, too, was spying on her. No 
matter where she went, even away out in the har- 
bor in a motor boat, it was always stretching its long 
neck up to watch her. Shaking back her curls, she 
looked up at it defiantly and made a face at it, just 
the ugliest pucker of a face she could twist her 1’ 
tie features into. 

But it was only on rare occasions that Georgin 
felt the longing for playmates of her own ag< 
Usually she was busy with her lessons or happi 
following her mother and Mrs. Triplett around tl 
house, sharing all their occupations. In jelly-makii 
time she had the scrapings of the kettle to fill b 
own little glass. When they sewed she sewed ^ 


The Towncrier Has His Say 35 

them, even when she was so small that she had to 
have the thread tied in the needle’s eye, and could do 
no more than pucker up a piece of soft goods into 
big wallops. But by the time she was nine years old 
she had learned to make such neat stitches that Bar- 
bara sent specimens of her needlework back to Ken- 
tucky, and folded others away in a little trunk of 
keepsakes, to save for her until she should be grown. 

Also by the time she was nine she could play quite 
creditably a number of simple Etudes on the tinkly 
old piano which had lost some of its ivories. Her 
daily practicing was one of the few things about 
which Barbara was strict. So much attention had 
been given to her own education in music that she 
found joy in keeping up her interest in it, and wanted 
to make it one of Georgina’s chief sources of pleas- 
ure. To that end she mixed the stories of the great 
operas and composers with her fairy tales and folk 
lore, until the child knew them as intimately as she 
- did her Hans Andersen and Uncle Remus. 

They often acted stories together, too. Even Mrs. 

riplett was dragged into these, albeit unwillingly, 
tor minor but necessary parts. For instance, in, 
“Lord Ullin’s Daughter,” she could keep on with her ! 
knitting and at the same time do “the horsemen hard 
behind us ride,” by clapping her heels on the hearth 
L o sound like hoof-beats. 

Acting came as naturally to Georgina as breathing. 
* iVy ' could not repeat the simplest message without 


36 Georgina of the Rainbows 

unconsciously imitating the tone and gesture of the 
one who sent it. This dramatic instinct made a 
good reader of her when she took her turn with Bar- 
bara in reading aloud. They used to take page 
about, sitting with their arms around each other on 
the old claw-foot sofa, backed up against the library 
table. 

. At such performances the old Towncrier was 
often an interested spectator. Barbara welcomed 
him when he first came because he seemed to want to 
talk about Justin as much as she desired to hear. 
Later she welcomed him for his own sake, and grew 
to depend upon him for counsel and encouragement. 
Most of all she appreciated his affectionate interest 
in Georgina. If he had been her own grandfather 
he could not have taken greater pride in her little 
accomplishments. More than once he had tied her 
thread in her needle for her when she was learning 
to sew, and it was his unfailing praise of her awk- 
ward attempts which encouraged her to K eep on until 
her stitches were really praiseworthy. 

He applauded her piano playing from her first 
stumbling attempt at scales to the last simple waltz 
she had just learned. He attended many readings, 
beginning with words of one syllable, on up to such 
books as “The Leatherstocking Tales.” He came 
m one day, however, as they were finishing a chapter 
in one of the Judge’s favorite novels, and no sooner 
had Georgina skipped out of the room on an errand 


The Towncrier Has His Say 37 

than he began to take her mother to task for allow- 
ing her to read anything of that sort. 

“You’ll make the lass old before her time!” he 
scolded. “A little scrap like her ought to be playing 
with other children instead of reading books so far j 
over her head that she can only sort of tip-toe up to’ 
them.” 

“But it’s the stretching that makes her grow, 
Uncle Darcy,” Barbara answered in an indulgent 
tone. He went on heedless of her interruption. 

“And she tells me that she sometimes sits as much 
as an hour at a time, listening to you play on the 
piano, especially if it’s ‘sad music that makes you 
think of someone looking off to sea for a ship that 
never comes in, or of waves creeping up in a lonely 
place where the fog-bell tolls.’ Those were her very 
words, and she looked so mournful that it worried 
me. It isn’t natural for a child of her age to sit with 
a far-away look in her eyes, as if she were seeing 
things that ain’t there.” 

Barbara laughed. 

“Nonsense, Uncle Darcy. As long as she keeps 
her rosy cheeks and is full of life, a little dreaming 
can’t hurt her. You should have seen her doing the 
elfin dance this morning. She entered into the spirit 
of it like a little whirlwind. And, besides, there are 
no children anywhere near that I can allow her to 
play with. I have only a few acquaintances in the 
town, and they are too far from us to make visiting 


38 Georgina of the Rainbows 

easy between the children. But look at the time I 
give to her. I play with her so much that we’re more 
like two chums than mother and child.” 

“Yes, but it would be better for both of you if you 
had more friends outside. Then Georgina wouldn’t 
feel the sadness of ‘someone looking off to sea for 
a ship that never comes in.’ She feels your separa- 
tion from Justin and your watching for his letters 
and your making your whole life just a waiting time 
between his furloughs, more than you have any idea 
of.” 

“But, Uncle Darcy!” exclaimed Barbara, “it 
would be just the same no matter how many friends 
I had. They couldn’t make me forget his absence.” 

“No, but they could get you interested in other 
things, and Georgina would feel the difference, and 
be happier because you would not seem to be wait- 
ing and anxious. There’s some rare, good people in 
this town, old friends of the family who tried to make 
you feel at home among them when you first came.” 

“I know,” admitted Barbara, slowly, “but I was 
so young then, and so homesick that strangers didn’t 
interest me. Now Georgina is old enough to be 
thoroughly companionable, and our music and sew- 
ing and household duties fill our days.” 

It was a subject they had discussed before, with- 
out either convincing the other, and the old man had 
always gone away at such times with a feeling of 
defeat. But this time as he took his leave, it was 


The Towncrier Has His Say 39 

with the determination to take the matter in hand 
himself. He felt he owed it to the Judge to do that 
much for his grandchild. The usual crowds of sum- 
mer people would be coming soon. He had heard 
that Gray Inn was to be re-opened this summery 
That meant there would probably be children at this* 
end of the beach. If Opportunity came that near 
to Georgina’s door he knew several ways of induc- 
ing it to knock. So he went off smiling to himself. 



CHAPTER IV 


NEW FRIENDS AND THE GREEN STAIRS 
HE town filled up with artists earlier than usual 



-®- that summer. Stable lofts and old boathouses 
along the shore blossomed into studios. Sketching 
classes met in the rooms of the big summer art 
schools which made the Cape end famous, or set up 
their models down by the wharfs. One ran into 
easels pitched in the most public places : on busy street 
corners, on the steps of the souvenir shops and even 
in front of the town hall. People in paint-besmeared 
smocks, loaded with canvases, sketching stools and 
palettes, filled the board-walk and overflowed into 
the middle of the street. 

The Dorothy Bradford steamed up to the wharf 
from Boston with her daily load of excursionists, and 
the “accommodation” busses began to ply up and 
down the three miles of narrow street with its rest- 
less tide of summer visitors. 

Up along, through the thick of it one June morn- 
ing, came the Towncrier, a picturesque figure in his 
short blue jacket and wide seaman’s trousers, a red 
bandanna knotted around his throat and a wide- 
rimmed straw hat on the back of his head. 


New Friends and the Green Stairs 41 

“Notice !” he cried, after each vigorous ringing 
of his big brass bell. “Lost, between Mayflower 
Heights and the Gray Inn, a black leather bill-case 
with important papers.” 

He made slow progress, for someone stopped him 
at almost every rod with a word of greeting, and 
he stopped to pat every dog which thrust a friendly 
nose into his hand in passing. Several times strangers 
stepped up to him to inquire into his affairs as if he 
were some ancient historical personage come to life. 
Once he heard a man say: 

“Quick with your kodak, Ethel. Catch the Town- 
crier as he comes along. They say there’s only one 
other place in the whole United States that has one. 
You can’t afford to miss anything this quaint.” 

It was nearly noon when he came towards the end 
of the beach. He walked still more slowly here, 
for many cottages had been opened for summer resi- 
dents since the last time he passed along, and he 
knew some of the owners. He noticed that the loft 
above a boat-house which had once been the studio 
of a famous painter of marine scenes was again in 
use. He wondered who had taken it. Almost across 
from it was the “Green Stairs” where Georgina al- 
ways came to meet him if she were outdoors and 
heard his bell. 

The “Green Stairs” was the name sht had given to 
a long flight of wooden steps with a railing on each 
side, leading from the sidewalk up a steep embank- 


42 Georgina of the Rainbows 

ment to the bungalow on top. It was a wide-spread- 
ing bungalow with as many windows looking out to 
sea as a lighthouse, and had had an especial interest 
for Georgina, since she heard someone say that its 
owner, Mr. Milford, was an old bachelor who lived 
by himself. She used to wonder when she was 
younger if “all the bread and cheese he got he kept 
upon a shelf.” Once she asked Barbara why he 
didn’t “go to London to get him a wife,” and was 
told probably because he had so many guests that 
there wasn’t time. Interesting people were always 
coming and going about the house; men famous for 
things they had done or written or painted. 

Now as the Towncrier came nearer, he saw 
Georgina skipping along toward him with her jump- 
ing rope. She w T as bare-headed, her pink dress flut- 
tering in the salt breeze, her curls blowing back from 
her glowing little face. He would have hastened his 
steps to meet her, but his honest soul always de- 
manded a certain amount of service from himself for 
the dollar paid him for each trip of this kind. So 
he went on at his customary gait, stopping at the 
usual intervals to ring his bell and call his news. 

At the Green Stairs Georgina paused, her atten- 
tion attracted by a foreign-looking battleship just 
steaming into the harbor. She was familiar with 
nearly every kind of sea-going craft that ever an- 
chored here, but she could not classify this one. With 
her hands behind her, clasping her jumping rope 


New Friends and the Green Stairs 43 

ready for another throw, she stood looking out to 
sea. Presently a slight scratching sound behind her 
made her turn suddenly. Then she drew back 
startled, for she was face to face with a dog which 
was sitting on the step just on a level with her eyes. 
He w’as a ragged-looking tramp of a dog, an Irish 
terrier, but he looked at her in such a knowing, 
human way that she spoke to him as if he had been 
a person. 

“For goodness’ sake, how you made me jump! I 
didn’t know anybody was sitting there behind me.” 

It was almost uncanny the way his eyes twinkled 
through his hair, as if he were laughing with her 
over some good joke they had together. It gave her 
such a feeling of comradeship that she stood and 
smiled back at him. Suddenly he raised his right 
paw and thrust it towards her. She drew back an- 
other step. She was not used to dogs, and she hesi- 
tated about touching anything with such claws in it 
as the paw he gravely presented. 

But as he continued to hold it out she felt it 
would be impolite not to respond in some way, so 
reaching out very cautiously she gave it a limp shake. 
Then as he still kept looking at her with questioning 
eyes she asked quite as if she expected him to speak, 
“What’s your name, Dog?” 

A voice from the top of the steps answered, “It’s 
Captain Kidd.” Even more startled than when the 
dog had claimed her attention, she glanced up to 


44 Georgina of the Rainbows 

see a small boy on the highest step. He was sucking 
an orange, but he took his mouth away from it long 
enough to add, “His name’s on his collar that he got 
yesterday, and so’s mine. You can look at ’em if you 
want to.” 

Georgina leaned forward to peer at the engraving 
on the front of the collar, but the hair on the shaggy 
throat hid it, and she was timid about touching a 
spot just below such a wide open mouth with a red 
tongue lolling out of it. She put her hands behind 
her instead. 

“Is — is he — a pirate dog?” she ventured. 

The boy considered a minute, not wanting to say 
yes if pirates were not respectable in her eyes, and 
not wanting to lose the chance of glorifying him if 
she held them in as high esteem as he did. After a 
long meditative suck at his orange he announced, 
“Well, he’s just as good as one. He buries all his 
treasures. That’s why we call him Captain Kidd ” 

Georgina shot a long, appraising glance at the 
boy from under her dark lashes. His eyes were 
dark, too. There was something about him that at- 
tracted her, even if his face was smeary with orange 
juice and streaked with dirty finger marks. She 
wanted to ask more about Captain Kidd, but her 
acquaintance with boys was as slight as with dogs. 
Overcome by a sudden shyness she threw her rope 
over her head and went skipping on down the board- 
walk to meet the Towncrier. 


New Friends and the Green Stairs 45 

The boy stood up and looked after her. He 
wished she hadn’t been in such a hurry. It had been 
the longest morning he ever lived through. Hav- 
ing arrived only the day before with his father to 
visit at the bungalow he hadn’t yet discovered what 
there was for a boy to do in this strange place. 
Everybody had gone off and left him with the ser- 
vants, and told him to play around till they got back. 
It wouldn’t be long, they said, but he had waited and 
waited until he felt he had been looking out to sea 
from the top of those green steps all the days of his 
life. Of course, he wouldn’t want to play with just 
a girl, but 

He watched the pink dress go fluttering on, and 
then he saw Georgina take the bell away from the 
old man as if it were her right to do so. She turned 
and walked along beside him, tinkling it faintly as 
she talked. He wished he had a chance at it. He’d 
show her how loud he could make it sound. 

“Notice,” called the old man, seeing faces appear 
at some of the windows they were passing. “Lost, 
a black leather bill-case ” 

The boy, listening curiously, slid down the steps 
until he reached the one on which the dog was sitting, 
and put his arm around its neck. The banister posts 
hid him from the approaching couple. He could 
hear Georgina’s eager voice piping up flute-like : 

“It’s a pirate dog, Uncle Darcy. He’s named 
Captain Kidd because he buries his treasures.” 


46 Georgina of the Rainbows 

In answer the old man’s quavering voice rose in 
a song which he had roared lustily many a time in 
his younger days, aboard many a gallant vessel : 

“Oh, my name is Captain Kidd, 

And many wick-ud things I did, 

A nd heaps of gold I hid, 

As I sailed ” 

The way his voice slid down on the word wick -ud 
made a queer thrilly feeling run down the boy’s back, 
and all of a sudden the day grew wonderfully in- 
teresting, and this old seaport town one of the nicest 
places he had ever been in. The singer stopped at 
the steps and Georgina, disconcerted at finding the 
boy at such close range when she expected to see him 
far above her, got no further in her introduction to 
Captain Kidd than “Here he- ” 

But the old man needed no introduction. He had 
only to speak to the dog to set every inch of him 
quivering in affectionate response. “Here’s a friend 
worth having,” the raggedy tail seemed to signal in 
a wig-wag code of its own. 

Then the wrinkled hand went from the dog’s head 
to the boy’s shoulder with the same kind of an af- 
fectionate pat. “What’s your name, son?” 

“Richard Morland.” 

“What?” was the surprised question. “Are you 
a son of the artist Morland, who is visiting up here 
at the Milford bungalow?” 


New Friends and the Green Stairs 47 

“Yes, that’s us.” 

“Well, bless my stars, it’s liis bill-case I have been 
crying all morning. If I’d known there was a fine 
lad like you sitting about doing nothing, I’d had you 
with me, ringing the bell.” 

The little fellow’s face glowed. He was as quick 
to recognize a friend worth having as Captain Kidd 
had been. 

“Say,” he began, “if it was Daddy’s bill-case you 
were shouting about, you needn’t do it any longer. 
It’s found. Captain Kidd came in with it in his 
mouth just after Daddy went away. He was start- 
ing to dig a hole in the sand down by the garage to 
bury it in, like he does everything. He’s hardly done 
being a puppy yet, you know. I took it away From 
him and reckanized it, and I’ve been waiting here 
all morning for Dad to come home.” 

He began tugging at the pocket into which he had 
stowed the bill-case for safe-keeping, and Captain 
Kidd, feeling that it was his by right of discovery, 
stood up, wagging himself all over, and poking his 
nose in between them, with an air of excited interest. 
The Towncrier shook his finger at him. 

“You rascal! I suppose you’ll be claiming the re- 
ward next thing, you old pirate! How old is he, 
Richard?” 

“About a year. He was given to me when he was 
just a little puppy.” 

“And how old are you, son?” 


|8 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Ten my last birthday, but I’m so big for my age 
I wear ’leven-year-old suits.” 

Now the Towncrier hadn’t intended to stop, but 
the dog began burrowing its head ecstatically against 
him, and there was something in the boy’s lonesome, 
dirty little face which appealed to him, and the next 
thing he knew he was sitting on the bottom step of 
the Green Stairs with Georgina beside him, telling 
the most thrilling pirate story he knew. And he told 
it more thrillingly than he had ever told it before. 
The reason for this was he had never had such a 
spellbound listener before. Not even Justin had 
hung on each word with the rapt interest this boy 
showed. His dark eyes seemed to grow bigger and 
more luminous with each sentence, more intense in 
their piercing gaze. His sensitive mouth changed 
expression with every phase of the adventure — dan- 
ger, suspense, triumph. He scarcely breathed, he 
was listening so hard. 

Suddenly the whistle at the cold-storage plant 
began to blow for noon, and the old man rose stiffly, 
saying : 

“I’m a long way from home, I should have started 
back sooner.” 

“Oh, but you haven’t finished the story !” cried the 
boy, in distress at this sudden ending. “It couldn’t 
stop there.” 

Georgina caught him by the sleeve of the old blue 
jacket to pull him back to the seat beside her. 


New Friends and the Green Stairs 49 

“Please, Uncle Darcy!” 

It was the first time in all her coaxing that that 
magic word failed to bend him to her wishes. 

“No,” he answered firmly, “I can’t finish it now, 
but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. This afternoon I’ll row 
up to this end of the beach in my dory and take you 
two children out to the weirs to see the net hauled 
in. There’s apt to be a big catch of squid worth 
going to see, and I’ll finish the story on the way. 
Will that suit you?” 

Richard stood up, as eager and excited as Cap- 
tain Kidd always was when anybody said “Rats!” 
But the next instant the light died out of his eyes and 
he plumped himself gloomily down on the step, as 
if life were no longer worth living. 

“Oh, bother!” he exclaimed. “I forgot. I can’t 
go anywhere. Dad’s painting my portrait, and I 
have to stick around so’s he can work on it any old 
time he feels like it. That’s why he brought me on 
this visit with him, so’s he can finish it up here.” 

“Maybe you can beg off, just for to-day,” sug* 
gested Mr. Darcy. 

“No, it’s very important,” he explained gravely. 
“It’s the best one Daddy’s done yet, and the last 
thing before we left home Aunt Letty said, ‘What- 
ever you do, boys, don’t let anything interfere with 
getting that picture done in time to hang in the ex- 
hibition,’ and we both promised.” 

There was gloomy silence for a moment, broken 
by the old man’s cheerful voice. 


£0 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Well, don’t you worry till you see what we can do. 
I want to see your father anyhow about this bill-case 
business, so I’ll come around this afternoon, and if 
he doesn’t let you off to-day maybe he will to-morrow. 
Just trust your Uncle Darcy for getting where he 
starts out to go. Skip along home, Georgina, and 
tell your mother I want to borrow you for the after- 
noon.” 

An excited little pink whirlwind with a jumping 
rope going over and over its head, went flying up 
the street toward the end of the beach. A smiling 
old man with age looking out of his faded blue eyes 
but with the spirit of boyhood undimmed in his 
heart, walked slowly down towards the town. And 
on the bottom step of the Green Stairs, his arm 
around Captain Kidd, the boy sat watching them, 
looking from one to the other as long as they were 
in sight. The heart of him was pounding deliciously 
to the music of such phrases as, “Fathoms deep , 
lonely beach , spade and pickaxe, skull and cross- 
bones, bags of golden doubloons and chests of ducats 
and pearls!” 



CHAPTER V 


IN THE FOOTSTEPS OF PIRATES 

TpHE weirs, to which they took their way that 
afternoon in the Towncrier’s dory, The Betsey, 
was “the biggest fish-trap in any waters thereabouts,” 
the old man told them. And it happened th&t the 
net held an unusually large catch that day. Barrels 
and barrels of flapping squid and mackerel were 
emptied into the big motor boat anchored alongside 
of it. 

At a word from Uncle Darcy, an obliging fisher- 
man in oilskins held out his hand to help the chil- 
dren scramble over the side of The Betsey to a seat 
on top of the cabin where they could have a better 
view. All the crew were Portuguese. The man who 
helped them climb over was Joe Fayal, father of 
Manuel and Joseph and Rosa. He stood like a 
young brown Neptune, his white teeth flashing when 
he laughed, a pitchfork in his hands with which 
to spear the goosefish as they turned up in the net, 
and throw them back into the sea. If nothing else 
had happened that sight alone was enough to mark 
it as a memorable afternoon. 

Nothing else did happen, really, except that on 


52 Georgina of the Rainbows 

the way out, Uncle Darcy finished the story begun 
on the Green Stairs and on the way back told them 
another. But what Richard remembered ever after 
as seeming to have happened, was that The Betsey 
suddenly turned into a Brigantine. Perched up on 
one of the masts, an unseen spectator, he watched a 
mutiny flare up among the sailors, and saw that 
“strutting, swaggering villain, John Quelch, throw 
the captain overboard and take command himself.” 
He saw them hoist a flag they called “Old Roger,” 
“having in the middle of it an Anatomy (skeleton) 
with an hour-glass in one hand and a dart in the 
heart with three drops of blood proceeding from 
it.” 

He heard the roar that went up from all those 
bearded throats — (wonderful how Uncle Darcy’s 
thin, quavering voice could sound that whole 
chorus) 


“0/ all the lives , I ever say, 

A Pirate’s he for I. 

Hap what hap may y he’s alius gay 
An’ drinks an’ bungs his eye . 

For his work he’s never loth, 

An’ a-pleasurin’ he’ll go 
Tho* certain sure to he popt off . 

Yo ho, with the rum below.” 

And then they made after the Portuguese vessels, 


In the Footsteps of Pirates 53 

nine of them, and took them all (What a bloody fight 
it was!), and sailed away with a dazzling store of 
treasure, “enough to make an honest sailorman rub 
his eyes and stagger in his tracks.” 

Richard had not been brought up on stories as 
Georgina had. He had had few of this kind, and 
none so breathlessly realistic. It carried him out 
of himself so completely that as they rowed slowly 
back to town he did not see a single house in it, al- 
though every western window-pane flashed back the 
out-going sun like a golden mirror. His serious, 
brown eyes were following the adventures of these 
bold sea-robbers, “marooned three times and 
wounded nine and blowed up in the air.” 

When all of a sudden the brigantine changed back 
into The Betsey , and he had to climb out at the boat- 
landing, he had somewhat of the dazed feeling of 
that honest sailor-man. He had heard enough to 
make him “rub his eyes and stagger in his tracks.” 

Uncle Darcy, having put them ashore, rowed off 
with the parting injunction to skip along home. 
Georgina did skip, so light of foot and quick of 
movement that she was in the lead all the way to the 
Green Stairs. There she paused and waited for 
Richard to join her. As he came up he spoke for 
the first time since leaving the weirs. 

“Wish I knew the boys in this town. Wish I 
knew which one would be the best to get to go dig- 
ging with me.” 


54 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Georgina did not need to ask, “digging for what ?” 
She, too, had been thinking of buried treasure. 

‘Til go with you,” she volunteered sweetly. 

He turned on her an inquiring look, as if he were 
taking her measure, then glanced away indifferently. 

“You couldn’t. You’re a girl.” 

It was a matter-of-fact statement with no sus- 
picion of a taunt in it, but it stung Georgina’s pride. 
Her eyes blazed defiantly and she tossed back her 
curls with a proud little uplift of the chin. It must 
be acknowledged that her nose, too, took on the 
trifle of a tilt. Her challenge was unspoken but so 
evident that he answered it. 

“Well, you know you couldn’t creep out into the 
night and go along a lonely shore into dark caves 
and everything.” 

“Pity I couldn’t!” she answered with withering 
scorn. “I could go anywhere you could, anybody 
descended from heroes like I am. I don’t want to be 
braggity, but I’d have you to know they put up that 
big monument over there for one of them, and an- 
other was a Minute-man. With all that, for you 
to think I’d be afraid! Tut! ,} 

Not Tippy herself had ever spoken that word 
with finer scorn. With a flirt of her short skirts 
Georgina turned and started disdainfully up the 
street. 

“Wait,” called Richard. He liked the sudden 
flare-up of her manner. There was something con- 


•RMnKASm .■.OUf.rv-Gff^flBOSKi 



w U i iV i rt i i i Pi i frfc di n 


took tfeipjOdzjjffl t£e kBetsetf 














I 

4 
























#■ 

























/ 






































■S 


•> 

1 . 














































































In the Footsteps of Pirates 55 

rincing about it. Besides, he didn’t want her to gQ 
off in that independent way as if she meant never to 
come back. It was she who had brought the Town* 
crier, that matchless Teller of Tales, across his path. 

“I didn’t say you wasn’t brave,” he called after 
her. 

She hesitated, then stopped, turning half-wa) 
around. 

'‘I just said you was a girl. Most of them are 
’fraid cats, but if you ain’t I don’t know as I’d mind 
taking you along. That is,” he added cautiously, “if 
I could be dead sure that you’re game.” 

At that Georgina turned all the way around and 
came back a few steps. 

“You can try me,” she answered, anxious to prove 
herself worthy to be taken on such a quest, and as 
eager as he to begin it. 

“You think of the thing you’re most afraid of 
yourself, and tell me to do it, and then just watch 
me.” 

Richard declined to admit any fear of anything. 
Georgina named several terrors at which he stoutly 
shook his head, but presently with uncanny insight 
she touched upon his weakest point. 

“Would you be afraid of coffins and spooks or to 
go to a graveyard in the dead of the night the way 
Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn did?” 

Not having read Tom Sawyer, Richard evaded the 
question by asking, “How did they do?” 


56 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Oh, don’t you know? They had the dead cat 
and they saw old Injun Joe come with the lantern and 
kill the man that was with Muff Potter.” 

By the time Georgina had given the bare outline of 
the story in her dramatic way, Richard w T as quite sure 
that no power under heaven could entice him into a 
graveyard at midnight, though nothing could have 
induced him to admit this to Georgina. As far back 
as he could remember he had had an unreasoning 
dread of coffins. Even now, big as he was, big 
enough to wear “ ’leven-year-old suits,” nothing 
could tempt him into a furniture shop for fear of 
seeing a coffin. 

One of his earliest recollections was of his nurse 
taking him into a little shop, at some village where 
they were spending the summer, and his cold terror 
when he found himself directly beside a long brown 
one, smelling of varnish, and with silver handles. 
His nurse’s tales had much to do with creating this 
repulsion, also her threat of shutting him up in a 
coffin if he wasn’t a good boy. When she found 
that she could exact obedience by keeping that dread 
hanging over him, she used the threat daily. 

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said finally. “I’ll 
let you go digging with me if you’re game enough to 
go to the graveyard and walk clear across it all by 
yourself and” — dropping his voice to a hollow whis- 
per — “touch — ten — tombstones!” 

Now, if Richard hadn’t dropped his voice in that 


In the Footsteps of Pirates 57 

scary way when he said, “and touch ten tombstones,” 
it would have been no test at all of Georgina’s cour- 
age. Strange, how just his way of saying those four 
words suddenly made the act such a fearsome one. 

“Do it right now,” he suggested. 

“But it isn’t night yet,” she answered, “let alone 
being mid-night.” 

“No, but it’s clouding up, and the sun’s down. By 
the time we’d get to a graveyard it would be dark 
enough for me to tell if you’re game.” 

Up to this time Georgina had never gone any- 
where without permission. But this was something 
one couldn’t explain very well at home. It seemed 
better to do it first and explain afterward. 

Fifteen minutes later, two children and a dog 
arrived hot and panting at the entrance to the old 
burying ground. On a high sand dune, covered with 
thin patches of beach and poverty grass, and a sparse 
growth of scraggly pines, it was a desolate spot at 
any time, and now doubly so in the gathering twi- 
light. The lichen-covered slabs that marked the 
graves of the early settlers leaned this way and that 
along the hill. 

The gate was locked, but Georgina found a place 
where the palings were loose, and squeezed through, 
leaving Richard and the dog outside. They watched 
her through the fence as she toiled up the steep hill. 
The sand was so deep that she plunged in over her 
shoe-tops at every step. Once on top it was easier 


58 Georgina of the Rainbows 

going. The matted beach grass made a firm turf. 
She stopped and read the names on some of the 
slabs before she plucked up courage to touch one. 
She would not have hesitated an instant if only 
Richard had not dared her in that scary way. 

Some little, wild creature started up out of the 
grass ahead of her and scurried away. Her heart 
beat so fast she could hear the blood pounding 
against her ear-drums. She looked back. Richard 
was watching, and she was to wave her hand each 
time she touched a stone so that he could keep count 
with her. She stooped and peered at one, trying to 
read the inscription. The clouds had hurried the 
coming of twilight. It was hard to decipher the 
words. 

“None knew him but to love him,” she read slowly. 
Instantly her dread of the place vanished. She laid 
her hand on the stone and then waved to Richard. 
Then she ran on and read and touched another. 
“Lost at sea,” that one said, and under the next slabs 
slept “Deliverance” and “Experience,” “Mercy,” 
and “Thankful.” What queer names people had in 
those early days ! And what strange pictures they 
etched in the stone of those old gray slabs — urns and 
angels and weeping willows ! 

She signaled the tenth and last. Richard won- 
dered why she did not turn and come back. At the 
highest point of the hill she stood as if transfixed, a 
slim little silhouette against the darkening sky, her 


In the Footsteps of Pirates 59 

hands clasped in amazement. Suddenly she turned 
and came tearing down the hill, floundering through 
sand, falling and picking herself up, only to flounder 
and fall again, finally rolling down the last few yards 
of the embankment. 

“What scared you?” asked Richard, his eyes big 
with excitement as he watched what seemed to be 
her terrified exit. “What did you see?” But she 
would not speak until she had squeezed between the 
palings and stood beside him. Then she told him 
in an impressive whisper, glancing furtively over her 
shoulder: 

“There’s a whole row of tombstones up there 
with skulls and cross-bones on them! They must 
be pirate graves!” 

Her mysterious air was so contagious that he an- 
swered in a whisper, and in a moment each was 
convinced by the other’s mere manner that their sus- 
picion was true. Presently Georgina spoke in her 
natural voice. 

“You go up and look at them.” 

“Naw, I’ll take your word for it,” he answered 
in a patronizing tone. “Besides, there isn’t time 
[now. It’s getting too dark. They’ll be expecting me 
home to supper.” 

Georgina glanced about her. The clouds settling 
heavily made it seem later than it really was. She 
had a guilty feeling that Barby was worrying about 
her long absence, maybe imagining that something 


60 Georgina of the Rainbows 

had happened to The Betsey. She started home- 
ward, half running, but her pace slackened as Rich- 
ard, hurrying along beside her, began to plan what 
they would do with their treasure when they found 
it. 

‘‘There’s sure to be piles of buried gold around 
here,” he said. “Those pirate graves prove that a 
lot of ’em lived here once. Let’s buy a moving pic- 
ture show first.” 

Georgina’s face grew radiant at this tacit admis- 
sion of herself into partnership. 

‘ f Oh, yes,” she assented joyfully. “And then we 
can have moving pictures made of us doing all sorts 
of things. Won’t it be fun to sit back and watch 
ourselves and see how we look doing ’em?” 

“Say! that’s great,” he exclaimed. “All "the kids 
in town will want to be in the pictures, too, but we’ll 
have the say-so, and only those who do exactly to suit 
us can have a chance of getting in.” 

“But the more we let in the more money we’d 
make in the show,” was Georgina’s shrewd answer. 
“Everybody will want to see what their child looks 
like in the movies, so, of course, that’ll make people 
come to our show instead of the other ones.” 

“Say,” was the admiring reply. “You’re a part - 1 
ner worth having. You’ve got a head.” 

Such praise was the sweetest incense to Georgina. 
She burned to call forth more. 


In the Footsteps of Pirates 61 

“Oh, I can think of lots of things when once I 
get started,” she assured him with a grand air. 

As they ran along Richard glanced several times 
at the head from which had come such valuable sug- 
igestions. There was a gleam of gold in the brown 
curls which bobbed over her shoulders. He liked 
it. He hadn’t noticed before that her hair was 
pretty. 

There was a gleam of gold, also, in the thoughts 
of each. They could fairly see the nuggets they 
were soon to unearth, and their imaginations, each 
fired by the other, shoveled out the coin which the 
picture show was to yield them, in the same way that 
the fisherman had shoveled the shining mackerel into 
the boat. They had not attempted to count them, 
simply measured them by the barrelful. 

“Don’t tell anybody,” Richard counseled her as 
they parted at the Green Stairs. “Cross your heart 
and body you won’t tell a soul. We want to surprise 
’em.” 

Georgina gave the required sign and promise, as 
gravely as if it were an oath. 

From the front porch Richard’s father and cousin, 
/James Milford, watched him climb slowly up the 
Green Stairs. 

“Dicky looks as if the affairs of the nation were 
on his shoulders,” observed Cousin James. “Pity he 
doesn’t realize these are his care-free days.” 


62 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“They’re not,” answered the elder Richard. 
“They’re the most deadly serious ones he’ll ever 
have. I don’t know what he’s got on his mind now, 
but whatever it is I’ll wager it is more important 
business than that deal you’re trying to pull off with 
the Cold Storage people.” 



CHAPTER VI 


SPEND-THE-DAY GUESTS 

'TPHERE was a storm that night and next day a 
-*• heavy fog dropped down like a thick white veil 
over town and sea. It was so cold that Jeremy 
lighted a fire, not only in the living room but in the 
guest chamber across the hall. 

A week earlier Tippy had announced, “It’ll never 
do to let Cousin Mehitable Huntingdon go back to 
Hyannis without having broken bread with us. She’d 
talk about it to the end of her days, if we were the 
only relations in town who failed to ask her in to a 
meal, during her fortnight’s visit. And, of course, 
if we ask her, all the family she’s staying with ought 
to be invited, and we’ve never had the new minister 
and his wife here to eat. Might as well do it all up 
at once while we’re about it.” 

Spend-the-day guests were rare in Georgina’s ex- 
perience. The grand preparations for their enter- 
tainment which went on that morning put the new 
partnership and the treasure-quest far into the back- 
ground. She forgot it entirely while the dining-room 
table, stretched to its limit, was being set with the 
best china and silver as if for a Thanksgiving feast. 

63 


64 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Mrs. Fayal, the mother of Manuel and Joseph and 
Rosa, came over to help in the kitchen, and Tippy 
whisked around so fast that Georgina, tagging after, 
was continually meeting her coming back. 

Georgina was following to ask questions about the 
expected guests. She liked the gruesome sound of 
that term “blood relations” as Tippy used it, and 
wanted to know all about this recently discovered 
“in-law,” the widow of her grandfather’s cousin, 
Thomas Huntingdon. Barby could not tell her and 
Mrs. Triplett, too busy to be bothered, set her down 
to turn the leaves of the family album. But the 
photograph of Cousin Mehitable had been taken 
when she was a boarding-school miss in a disfiguring 
hat and basque, and bore little resemblance to the 
imposing personage who headed the procession of 
visitors, arriving promptly at eleven o’clock. 

When Cousin Mehitable came into the room in her 
widow’s bonnet with the long black veil hanging 
down behind, she seemed to fill the place as the 
massive black walnut wardrobe upstairs filled the al- 
cove. She lifted her eyeglasses from the hook on her 
dress to her hooked nose to look at Georgina before 
she kissed her. Under that gaze the child felt as 
awed as if the big wardrobe had bent over and put 
a wooden kiss on her forehead and said in a deep, 
whispery sort of voice, “So this is the Judge’s grand- 
daughter. How do you do, my dear?” 

All the guests were middle aged and most of them 


Spend-the-Day Guests 65 

portly. There were so many that they filled all the 
chairs and the long claw-foot sofa besides. Geor- 
gina sat on a foot-stool, her hands folded in her lap 
until the others took out their knitting and embroid- 
ery. Then she ran to get the napkin she was hem- 
ming. The husbands who had been invited did not 
arrive until time to sit down to dinner and they left 
immediately after the feast. 

Georgina wished that everybody would keep still 
and let one guest at a time do the talking. After the 
first few minutes of general conversation the circle 
broke into little groups, and it wasn’t possible to fol- 
low the thread of the story in more than one. Each 
group kept bringing to light some bit of family his- 
tory that she wanted to hear or some old family joke 
which they laughed over as if it were the funniest 
thing that ever happened. It was tantalizing not to 
be able to hear them all. It made her think of times 
when she rummaged through the chests in the attic, 
pulling out fascinating old garments and holding 
them up for Tippy to supply their history. But this 
was as bad as opening all the chests at once. While 
she was busy with one she was missing all that was 
being hauled out to the light of day from the others. 

Several times she moved her foot-stool from one 
group to another, drawn by some sentence such as, 
“Well, she certainly was the prettiest bride I ever 
laid my two eyes on, but not many of us would want 
to stand in her shoes now.” Or from across the 


66 Georgina of the Rainbows 

room, “They do say it was what happened the night 
of the wreck that unbalanced his mind, but I’ve al- 
ways thought it was having things go at sixes and 
sevens at home as they did.” 

Georgina would have settled herself permanently 
near Cousin Mehitable, she being the most dramatic 
and voluble of them all, but she had a tantalizing 
way of lowering her voice at the most interesting 
part, and whispering the last sentence behind her 
hand. Georgina was nearly consumed with curiosity 
each time that happened, and fairly ached to know 
these whispered revelations. 

It was an entrancing day — the dinner so good, the 
ancient jokes passing around the table all so new and 
witty to Georgina, hearing them now for the first 
time. She wished that a storm would come up to keep 
everybody at the house overnight and thus prolong 
the festal feeling. She liked this “Company” at- 
mosphere in which everyone seemed to grow expan- 
sive of soul and gracious of speech. She loved every 
relative she had to the remotest “in-law.” 

Her heart swelled with a great thankfulness to 
think that she was not an orphan. Had she been one 
there would have been no one to remark that her eyes 
were exactly like Justin’s and she carried herself like 
a Huntingdon, but that she must have inherited her 
smile from the other side of the house. Barbara had 
that same srpile and winning way with her. It was 
pleasant to be discussed when only pleasant things 


Spend-the-Day Guests 67 

were said, and to have her neat stitches exclaimed 
over and praised as they were passed around. 

She thought about it again after dinner, and felt so 
sorry for children who were orphans, that she de- 
cided to spend a large part of her share of the buried 
treasure in making them happy. She was sure that 
Richard would give part of his share, too, when he 
found it, and when the picture show which they were 
going to buy was in good running order, they would 
make it a rule that orphans should always be let in 
free. 

She came back from this pleasant day-dream to 
hear Cousin Mehitable saying, “Speaking of thieves, 
does anyone know what ever became of poor Dan 
Darcy?” 

Nobody knew, and they all shook their heads and 
said that it was a pity that he had turned out so 
badly. It was hard to believe it of him when he 
had always been such a kind, pleasant-spoken boy, 
just like his father; and if ever there was an honest 
soul in the whole round world it was the old Town- 
crier. 

At that Georgina gave such a start that she ran 
her needle into her thumb, and a tiny drop of blood 
spurted out. She did not know that Uncle Darcy 
had a son. She had never heard his name mentioned 
before. She had been at his house many a time, and 
there never was anyone there besides himself except 
his wife, “Aunt Elspeth” (who was so old and feeble 


68 Georgina of the Rainbows 

that she stayed in bed most of the time), and the 
three cats, “John Darcy and Mary Darcy and old 
Yellownose.” That’s the way the old man always 
spoke of them. He called them his family. 

Georgina was glad that the minister’s wife was a 
newcomer in the town and asked to have it explained. 
Everybody contributed a scrap of the story, for all 
side conversations stopped at the mention of Dan 
Darcy’s name, and the interest of the whole room 
centered on him. 

It was years ago, when he was not more than 
eighteen that it happened. He was a happy-go-lucky 
sort of fellow who couldn’t be kept down to steady 
work such as a job in the bank or a store. He was 
always off a-fishing or on the water, but everybody 
liked him and said he’d settle down when he was a 
bit older. He had a friend much like himself, only 
a little older. Emmett Potter was his name. There 
was a regular David and Jonathan friendship be- 
tween those two. They were hand-in-glove in every- 
thing till Dan went wrong. Both even liked the same 
girl, Belle Triplett. 

Here Georgina’s needle gave her another jab. She 
laid down her hemming to listen. This was bringing 
the story close home, for Belle Triplett was Tippy’s 
niece, or rather her husband’s niece. While that did 
not make Belle one of the Huntingdon family, Geor- 
gina had always looked upon her as such. She visited 
at the house oftener than anyone else. 


Spend-the-Day Guests 69 

Nobody in the room came right out and said what 
it was that Dan had done, but by putting the scraps 
together Georgina discovered presently that the 
trouble was about some stolen money. Lots of peo- 
ple wouldn’t believe that he was guilty at first, but; 
so many things pointed his way that finally they had 
to. The case was about to be brought to trial when 
one night Dan suddenly disappeared as if the sea had 
swallowed him, and nothing had ever been heard 
from him since. Judge Huntingdon said it was a 
pity, for even if he was guilty he thought he could 
have got him off, there being nothing but circum- 
stantial evidence. 

Well, it nearly killed his father and mother and 
Emmett Potter, too. 

It came out then that Emmett was engaged to 
Belle. For nearly a year he grieved about Dan’s 
disappearance. Seems he took it to heart so that 
he couldn’t bear to do any of the things they’d al- 
ways done together or go to the old places. Belle 
had her wedding dress made and thought if she could 
once get him down to Truro to live, he’d brace up 
and get over it. 

They had settled on the day, when one wild, 
stormy night word came that a vessel was pounding 
itself to pieces off Peaked Hill Bar, and the life- 
saving crew was starting to the rescue. Emmett lit 
out to see it, and when something happened to the 
breeches buoy so they couldn’t use it, he was the first 


70 Georgina of the Rainbows 

to answer when the call came for volunteers to man 
a boat to put out to them. He would have had a 
medal if he’d lived to wear it, for he saved five lives 
that night. But he lost his own the last time he 
climbed up on the vessel. Nobody knew whether it 
was a rope gave way or whether his fingers were so 
nearly frozen he couldn’t hold on, but he dropped 
into that raging sea, and his body was washed up 
on the beach next day. 

Georgina listened, horrified. 

“And Belle with her wedding dress all ready,” 
said Cousin Mehitable with a husky sigh. 

“What became of her?” asked the minister’s wife. 

“Oh, she’s still living here in town, but it blighted 
her whole life in a way, although she was just in her 
teens when it happened. It helped her to bear up, 
knowing he’d died such a hero. Some of the town 
people put up a tombstone to his memory, with a 
beautiful inscription on it that the summer people 
go to see, almost as much as the landing place of the 
Pilgrims. She’ll be true to his memory always, and 
it’s something beautiful to see her devotion to Em- 
mett’s father. She calls him “Father” Potter, and 
is always doing things for him. He’s that old net- 
mender who lives alone out on the edge of town 
near the cranberry bogs.” 

Cousin Mehitable took up the tale : 

“I’ll never forget if I live to be a hundred, what 
I saw on my way home the night after Emmett was 


Spend-the-Day Guests 7 1 

drowned. I was living here then, you know. I was 
passing through Fishburn Court, and I thought I’d 
go in and speak a word to Mr. Darcy, knowing how 
fond he’d always been of Emmett on account of Dan 
and him being such friends. I went across that sandy 
place they call the Court, to the row of cottages at 
the end. But I didn’t see anything until I had opened 
the Darcy’s gate and stepped into the yard. The 
house sits sideways to the Court, you know. 

“The yellow blind was pulled down over the front 
window, but the lamp threw a shadow on it, plain as 
a photograph. It was the shadow of the old man, 
sitting there with his arms flung out across the table, 
and his head bowed down on them. I was just hesi- 
tating, whether to knock or to slip away, when I 
heard him groan, and sort of cry out, “Oh, my 
Danny! My Danny! If only you could have gone 
that way.” 

Barbara, hearing a muffled sob behind her, turned 
to see the tears running down Georgina’s face. The 
next instant she was up, and with her arms around 
the child, was gently pushing her ahead of her out 
of the room, into the hall. With the door shut 
behind her she said soothingly: 

“Barby didn’t know they were going to tell such 
unhappy stories, darling. I shouldn’t have let you 
stay.” 

“But I want to know,” sobbed Georgina. “When 
people you love have trouble you ought to know, so’s 


72 Georgina of the Rainbows 

to be kinder to them. Oh, Barby, I’m so sorry I 
ever was saucy to him. And I wish I hadn’t teased 
his cats. I tied paper bags on all of John Darcy 
and Mary Darcy’s paws, and he said I made old 
Y-yellownose n-nervous, tickling his ears ” 

Barbara stopped the sobbing confessions with a 
kiss and took Georgina’s jacket from the hat- 
rack. 

“Here,” she said. “It’s bad for you to sit in the 
house all day and listen to grown people talk. Slip 
into this and run outdoors with your skipping rope 
a while. Uncle Darcy has had very great trouble, 
but he’s learned to bear it like a hero, and nothing 
would make him grieve more than to know that any 
shadow of his sorrow was making you unhappy. The 
way for you to help him most is to be as bright and 
jolly as you can, and to tease his old cats once in a 
while.” 

Georgina looked up through her tears, her dimples 
all showing, and threw her arms around her ador- 
ingly. 

“What a funny mother you are, Barby. Not a bit 
like the ones in books.” 

A cold wind was blowing the fog away. She raced 
up and down the beach for a long time, and when 
she came back it was with red cheeks and ruffled 
curls. Having left the company in tears she did 
not like to venture back for fear of the remarks 


Spend-the-Day Guests 73 

which might be made. So she crossed the hall and 
stood in the door of the guest chamber, considering 
what to do next. Its usual chill repellance had been 
changed into something inviting by the wood fire on 
the hearth, and on the bed where the guests had 
deposited their wraps lay an array of millinery which 
drew her irresistibly. 

It was a huge four-poster bed which one could 
mount only by the aid of a set of bedside steps, and so 
high that the valance, draped around it like a skirt, 
would have reached from her neck to her heels had 
it been draped on her. It was a chintz valance 
with birds of paradise patterned on its pink back- 
ground, and there was pink silk quilled into the quaint 
tester overhead, reminding her of old Jeremy’s 
favorite quill dahlias. 

Usually when she went into this room which was 
seldom opened, she mounted the steps to gaze up 
at that fascinating pink loveliness. Also she walked 
around the valance, counting its birds of paradise. 
She did not do so to-day. She knew from many 
previous countings that there were exactly eighty- 
seven and a half of those birds. The joining seam 
cut off all but the magnificent tail of what would have 
been the eighty-eighth. 

Mounting the steps she leaned over, careful not 
to touch the crocheted counterpane, which Tippy 
always treated as if it were something sacred, and 


74 Georgina of the Ptainbows 

looked at the hats spread out upon it. Then she laid 
daring fingers on Cousin Mehitable’s bonnet. It was 
a temptation to know what she would look like if 
she should grow up to be a widow and have to wear 
an imposing head-gear like that with a white ruche 
in front and a long black veil floating down behind. 
The next instant she was tying the strings under her 
chin. 

It made her look like such an odd little dwarf of 
a woman that she stuck out her tongue at her re- 
flection in the mirror. The grimace was so comical, 
framed by the stately bonnet, that Georgina was 
delighted. She twisted her face another way and 
was still more amused at results. Wholly forget- 
ful of the fact that it was a mourning bonnet, she 
went on making faces at herself until the sound of 
voices suddenly growing louder, told her that the 
door across the hall had opened. Someone was com- 
ing across. 

There was no time to take off the bonnet. 
With a frightened gasp she dived under the bed, 
with it still on, her heels disappearing just as some- 
one came into the room. The bed was so high she 
could easily sit upright under it, but she was so 
afraid that a cough or a sneeze might betray her, 
that she drew up her knees and sat with her face 
pressed against them hard. The long veil shrouded 
her shoulders. She felt that she would surely die if 


Spend-the-Day Guests 75 

anyone should notice that the bonnet was gone, or 
happen to lift the valance and find her sitting there 
with it on her head. Then she forgot her fear in 
listening to what Cousin Mehitable was saying. 



CHAPTER VII 


“the tishbite” 

d^OUSIN MEHITABLE was speaking to Mrs. 

Triplett, who seemed to be searching through 
bureau drawers for something. Georgina could tell 
what she was doing from the sounds which reached 
her. These drawers always stuck, and had to be 
jerked violently until the mirror rattled. 

“Oh, don’t bother about it, Maria. I just made 
an excuse of wanting to see it, because I knew you 
always kept it in here, and I wanted to get you off 
by yourself for a minute’s talk with you alone. Since 
I’ve been in town I’ve heard so much about Justin 
and the way he is doing that I wanted to ask some- 
body who knew and who could tell me the straight 
of it. What’s this about his leaving the service and 
going junketing off to the interior of China on some 
mission of his own? Jane tells me he got a year’s 
leave of absence from the Navy just to study up 
some outlandish disease that attacks the sailors in 
foreign ports. She says why should he take a whole 
year out of the best part of his life to poke around 
the huts of dirty heathen to find out the kind of mi- 
crobe that’s eating ’em? He’d ought to think of 
76 


“The Tishbite’ 


77 

Barbara and what’s eating her heart out. I’ve taken 
a great fancy to that girl, and I’d like to give Justin 
a piece of my mind. It probably wouldn’t do a bit 
of good though. He always was peculiar.” 

Georgina could hear only a few words of the 
answer because Tippy had her head in the closet now, 
reaching for the box on the top shelf. She stopped 
her search as soon as Cousin Mehitable said that, and 
the two of them went over to the fire and talked in 
low tones for a few minutes, leaning against the 
mantel. Georgina heard a word now and then. Sev- 
eral times it was her own name. Finally, in a louder 
tone Cousin Mehitable said: 

“Well, I wanted to know, and I was sure you 
could tell me if anyone could.” 

They went back across the hall to the other guests. 
The instant they were gone Georgina crawled out 
from under the bed with the big bonnet cocked over 
one eye. Then she scudded down the hall and up the 
back stairs. She knew the company would be* going 
soon, and she would be expected to bid them good- 
bye if she were there. She didn’t want Cousin 
Mehitable to kiss her again. She didn’t like her 
any more since she had called her father “peculiar.” 

She wandered aimlessly about for a few minutes, 
then pushed the door open into Mrs. Triplett’s room. 
It was warm and cozy in there for a small fire still 
burned in the little drum stove. She opened the front 
damper to make it burn faster, and the light shone 


78 Georgina of the Rainbows 

out in four long rays which made a flickering in the 
room. She sat down on the floor in front of it and 
began to wonder. 

“What did Cousin Mehitable mean by something 
eating Barby’s heart out?” Did people die of it? 
She had read of the Spartan youth who let the fox 
gnaw his vitals under his cloak and never showed, 
even by the twitching of a muscle, that he was in 
pain. Of course, she knew that no live thing was 
tearing at her mother’s heart, but what if something 
that she couldn’t understand was hurting her darling 
Barby night and day and she was bravely hiding it 
from the world like the Spartan youth? 

Did all grown people have troubles? It had 
seemed such a happy world until to-day, and now all 
at once she had heard about Dan Darcy and Belle 
Triplett. Nearly everyone whom the guests talked 
about had borne some unhappiness, and even her own 
father was “peculiar.” She wished she hadn’t found 
out all these things. A great weight seemed to settle 
down upon her. 

Thinking of Barbara in the light of what she had 
just learned she recalled that she often looked sorry 
and disappointed, especially after the postman had 
come and gone without leaving a letter. Only this 
morning Tippy had said — could it be she thought 
something was wrong and was trying to comfort her? 

“Justin always was a poor hand for writing let- 
ters. Many a time I’ve heard the Judge scolding 


“The Tishbite” 


79 

and stewing around because he hadn’t heard from 
him when he was away at school. Letter writing 
came so easy to the Judge he couldn’t understand why 
Justin shirked it so.” 

Then Georgina thought of Belle in the light of 
what she had just learned. Belle had carried her 
around in her arms when she was first brought to 
live in this old gray house by the sea. She had made 
a companion of her whenever she came to visit her 
Aunt Maria, and Georgina had admired her because 
she was so pretty and blonde and gentle, and enjoyed 
her because she was always so willing to do whatever 
Georgina wished. And now to think that instead of 
being the like-everybody-else kind of a young lady 
she seemed, she was like a heroine in a book who 
had lived through trouble which would “blight her 
whole life.” 

Sitting there on the floor with her knees drawn up 
and her chin resting on them, Georgina looked into 
the fire through the slits of the damper and thought 
and thought. Then she looked out through the little 
square window-panes across the wind-swept dunes. 
It did not seem like summer with the sky all over- 
cast with clouds. It was more like the end of a day 
in the early autumn. Life seemed overcast, too. 

Presently through a rift in the sky an early star 
stole out, and she made a wish on it. That was one 
of the things Belle had taught her. She started to 
wish that Barby might be happy. But before the 


80 Georgina of the Rainbows 

whispered verse had entirely passed her lips she 
stopped to amend it, adding Uncle Darcy’s name and 
Belle’s. Then she stopped again, overcome by the 
knowledge of all the woe in the world, and gathering 
all the universe into her generous little heart she 
exclaimed earnestly: 

“I wish everybody in the world could be happy.” 

Having made the wish, fervently, almost fiercely, 
in her intense desire to set things right, she scrambled 
to her feet. There was another thing that Belle 
had told her which she must do. 

“If you open the Bible and it chances to be at a 
chapter beginning with the words, ‘It came to pass,’ 
the wish will come true without fail.” 

Taking Tippy’s Bible from the stand beside the 
bed, she opened it at random, then carried it over to 
the stove in order to scan the pages by the firelight 
streaming through the damper. The book opened 
at First Kings, seventeenth chapter. She held it di- 
rectly in the broad rays examining the pages anx- 
iously. There was only that one chapter head on 
either page, and alas, its opening words were not 
“it came to pass.” What she read with a sinking 
heart was: 

“And Elijah the Tishbite” 

Now Georgina hadn’t the slightest idea what a 
Tishbite was, but it sounded as if it were something 
dreadful. Somehow it is a thousand times worse to 
be scared by a fear which is not understood than by 


“The Tishbite” 


81 


one which is familiar. Suddenly she felt as bewild- 
ered and frightened as she had on that morning long 
ago, when Jeremy’s teeth went flying into the fire. 
The happiness of her whole little world seemed to be 
going to pieces. 

Throwing herself across the foot of Tippy’s bed 
she crawled under the afghan thrown over it, even 
burrowing her head beneath it in order to shut out 
the dreadful things closing down on her. It had 
puzzled and frightened her to know that something 
was eating Barby’s heart out, even in a figurative 
way, and now the word “Tishbite” filled her with a 
vague sense of helplessness and impending disaster. 

Barbara, coming upstairs to hunt her after the 
guests were gone, found her sound asleep with the 
afghan still over her head. She folded it gently back 
from the flushed face, not intending to waken her, 
but Georgina’s eyes opened and after a bewildered 
stare around the room she sat up, remembering. She 
had wakened to a world of trouble. Somehow it did 
not seem quite so bad with Barbara standing over 
her, smiling. When she went downstairs a little 
later, freshly washed and brushed, the Tishbite rolled 
out of her thoughts as a fog lifts when the sun shines. 

But it came back at bedtime, when having said 
her prayers, she joined her voice with Barbara’s in 
the hymn that had been her earliest lullaby. It was 
a custom never omitted. It always closed the day 
for her: 


82 


Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Eternal Father , strong to save, 

Whose arm doth hind the restless wave , 

Oh, hear us when we cry to thee 
For those in peril on the sea ” 

As they sang she stole an anxious glance at Bar- 
bara several times. Then she made up her mind that 
Cousin Mehitable was mistaken. If her father were 
“peculiar,” Barby wouldn’t have that sweet look on 
her face when she sang that prayer for him. If he 
were making her unhappy she wouldn’t be singing it 
at all. She wouldn’t care whether he was protected 
or not “from rock and tempest, lire and foe.” 

And yet, after Barby had gone downstairs and 
the sound of the piano came softly up from below — 
another bedtime custom, Georgina began thinking 
again about those whispering voices which she had 
heard as she sat under the bed, behind the bird-of- 
paradise valance. More than ever before the music 
suggested someone waiting for a ship which never 
came home, or fog bells on a lonely shore. 

Nearly a week went by before Richard made his 
first visit to the old gray house at the end of town. 
He came with the Towncrier, carrying his bell, and 
keeping close to his side for the first few minutes. 
Then he found the place far more interesting than 
the bungalow. Georgina took him all over it, from 
the garret where she played on rainy days to the 
seat up in the willow, where standing in its highest 


“The Tishbite” 


83 

crotch one could look clear across the Cape to the 
Atlantic. They made several plans for their treas- 
ure-quest while up in the willow. They could see a 
place off towards Wood End Lighthouse which 
looked like one of the pirate places Uncle Darcy 
had described in one of his tales. 

Barby had lemonade and cake waiting for them 
when they came down, and when she talked to him 
it wasn’t at all in the way the ladies did who came 
to see his Aunt Letty, as if they were talking merely 
to be gracious and kind to a strange little boy in 
whom they had no interest. Barby gave his ear a 
tweak and said with a smile that made him feel as if 
they had known each other always : 

“Oh, the good times I’ve had with boys just your 
size. I always played with my brother Eddy’s 
friends. Boys make such good chums. I’ve often 
thought how much Georgina misses that I had.” 

Presently Georgina took him out to the see-saw, 
where Captain Kidd persisted in riding on Richard’s 
end of the plank. 

“That’s exactly the way my Uncle Eddy’s terrier 
used to do back in Kentucky when I visited there one 
summer,” she said, after the plank was adjusted so 
as to balance them properly. “Only he barked all 
the time he was riding. But he was fierce because 
Uncle Eddy fed him gunpowder.” 

“What did he do that for?” 

“To keep him from being gun-shy. And Uncle 


84 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Eddy ate some, too, one time when he was little, 
because the colored stable boy told him it would make 
him game.” 

“Did it?” 

“I don’t know whether that did or not. Some- 
thing did though, for he’s the gamest man I know.” 

Richard considered this a moment and then said: 

“I wonder what it would do to Captain Kidd if I 
fed him some.” 

“Let’s try it!” exclaimed Georgina, delighted with 
the suggestion. “There’s some hanging up in the 
old powder-horn over the dining-room mantel. You 
have to give it to ’em in milk. Wait a minute.” 

Jumping from the see-saw after giving fair warn- 
ing, she ran to one of the side windows. 

“Barby,” she called. “I’m going to give Captain 
Kidd some milk.” 

Barbara turned from her conversation with Uncle 
Darcy to say: 

“Very well, if you can get it yourself. But be 
careful not to disturb the pans that haven’t been 
skimmed. Tippy wouldn’t like it.” 

“I know what to get it out of,” called Georgina, 
“out of the blue pitcher.” 

Richard watched while she opened the refrigerator 
door and poured some milk into a saucer. 

“Carry it in and put it on the kitchen table,” she 
bade him, “while I get the powder.” 

When he followed her into the dining-room she 


“The Tishbite” 


85 

was upon a chair, reaching for the old powder horn, 
which hung on a hook under the firearm that had 
done duty in the battle of Lexington. Richiard 
wanted to get his hands on it, and was glad when 
she could not pull out the wooden plug which stopped 
the small end of the horn. She turned it over to him 
to open. He peered into it, then shook it. 

“There isn’t more than a spoonful left in it,” he 
said. 

“Well, gunpowder is so strong you don’t need 
much. You know just a little will make a gun go off. 
It mightn’t be safe to feed him much. Pour some 
out in your hand and drop it in the milk.” 

Richard slowly poured a small mound out into the 
hollow of his hand, and passed the horn back to her, 
then went to the kitchen whistling for Captain Kidd. 
Not all of the powder went into the milk, however. 
The last bit he swallowed himself, after looking at 
it long and thoughtfully. 

At the same moment, Georgina, before putting 
back the plug, paused, looked all around, and poured 
out a few grains into her own hand. If the Tishbite 
was going to do anybody any harm, it would be well 
to be prepared. She had just hastily swallowed it 
and was hanging the horn back in place, when Rich- 
ard returned. 

“He lapped up the last drop as if he liked it,” lie 
reported. “Now we’ll see what happens.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE TELEGRAM THAT TOOK BARBY AWAY 
HE painting of Richard’s portrait interfered 



-*• with the quest for buried treasure from day to 
day; but unbeknown either to artist or model, the 
dreams of that quest helped in the fashioning of the 
picture. In the preliminary sittings in the studio at 
home Richard’s father found it necessary always to 
begin with some exhortation such as : 

“Now, Dicky, this has got to be more than just 
a ‘Study of a Boy’s Head.’ I want to show by the 
expression of your face that it is an illustration of 
that poem, ‘A boy’s will is the wind’s will, and the 
thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.’ Chase 
that Binney Rogers and his gang out of your mind 
for a while, can’t you, and think of something be- 
side shinny and the hokey-pokey man.” 

So far the portrait was satisfactory in that it was 
a remarkably good likeness of an unusually good- 
looking boy, but it was of a boy who seemed to be 
alertly listening for such things as Binney’s cat-call, 
signaling him from the alley. Here by the sea there 
was no need for such exhortations. No sooner was 


The Telegram That Took Barby Away 87 

he seated before the easel in the loft which served as 
a studio, with its barn-like, double doors thrown open 
above the water, than the rapt expression which his 
father coveted, crept into his dark eyes. They grew 
big and dreamy, following the white sails across the 
harbor. He was planning the secret expedition he 
and Georgina intended to undertake, just as soon as 
the portrait was finished. 

There were many preparations to make for it. 
They would have to secrete tools and provisions ; and 
in a book from which Georgina read aloud whenever 
there was opportunity, were descriptions of various 
rites that it were well to perform. One was to sac- 
rifice a black cock, and sprinkle its blood upon the 
spot before beginning to dig. Richard did not ques- 
tion why this should be done. The book recom- 
mended it as a practice which had been followed by 
some very famous treasure hunters. If at times a 
certain wide-awake and calculating gleam suddenly 
dispelled the dreaminess of expression in which his 
father was exulting, it was because a black Orping- 
ton rooster which daily strayed from a nearby cot- 
tage to the beach below the studio window, chose that 
moment to crow. Richard had marked that black 
cock for the sacrifice. It was lordly enough to bring 
success upon any enterprise. 

In the meantime, as soon as his duties as model 
were over each morning, he was out of the studio 
with a whoop and up the beach as hard as he could 


88 Georgina of the Rainbows 

run to the Huntingdon house. By the time he 
reached it he was no longer the artist’s only son, 
hedged about with many limitations which belonged 
to that distinction. He was “Dare-devil Dick, the 
Dread Destroyer,” and Georgina was “Gory 
George, the Menace of the Main.” 

Together they commanded a brigantine of their 
own. Passers-by saw only an old sailboat anchored 
at the deserted and rotting wharf up nearest the 
breakwater. But the passers-by who saw only that 
failed to see either Dare-devil Dick or Gory George. 
They saw, instead, two children whose fierce mus- 
tachios were the streakings of a burnt match, whose 
massive hoop ear-rings were the brass rings from a 
curtain pole, whose faithful following of the acts 
of Captain Quelch and other piratical gentlemen was 
only the mimicry of play. 

But Barbara knew how real they were, from the 
spotted handkerchief tied around the “bunged eye” 
of Dare-devil Dick, under his evil-looking slouch 
hat, to the old horse pistol buckled to his belt. Gory 
George wore the same. And Barbara knew what 
serious business it was to them, even more serious 
than the affairs of eating and drinking. 

Tippy scolded when she found that her half-pint 
bottles which she kept especially for cream had been 
smuggled away in the hold of the brigantine. But 
without bottles how could one give a realistic touch 
to the singing of “Yo ho, and the rum below”? 


The T elegram That T ook Barby Away 89 

And Tippy thought it was heathenish for Barbara 
to let Georgina dress up in some little knickerbockers 
and a roundabout which had been stored away with 
other clothes worn by Justin as a small boy. But 
( her disapproval was beyond words when Barbara 
herself appeared at the back door one morning, so 
cleverly disguised as a gypsy, that Mrs. Triplett 
grudgingly handed out some cold biscuits before she 
discovered the imposition. The poor she was glad 
to feed, but she had no use for an impudent, strolling 
gypsy. 

“Don’t be cross, Tippy,” pleaded Barbara, laugh- 
ing till the tears came. “I had to do it. I can’t bear 
to feel that Georgina is growing away from me — 
that she is satisfied to leave me out of her games. 
Since she’s so taken up with that little Richard More- 
land I don’t seem as necessary to her as I used to 
be. And I can’t bear that, Tippy, when I’ve always 
been first in everything with her. She’s so neces- 
sary to me.” 

Mrs. Triplett made no answer. She felt that she 
couldn’t do justice to the occasion. She doubted if 
the Pilgrim monument itself could, even if it were 
to stretch itself up to its full height and deliver a 
lecture on the dignity of motherhood. She wondered 
what the Mayflower mothers would have thought if 
they could have met this modern one on the beach, 
with face stained brown, playacting that she was a 
beggar of a gypsy. How could she hope to be one 


90 Georgina of the Rainbows 

of those written of in Proverbs — “Her children rise 
up and call her blessed. Her own works praise her 
in the gates.” 

Tippy ate her dinner alone that day, glancing 
grimly through the open window from time to time 
to the sand dunes back of the house, where an old 
hag of a gypsy in a short red dress with a gay ban- 
danna knotted over her head, broiled bacon and 
boiled corn over a smoky campfire; and two swagger- 
ing villains who smelled of tar and codfish (because 
of the old net which half-way filled the brigantine), 
sucked the very cobs when the corn was eaten from 
them, forever registering that feast high above all 
other feasts in the tablet of blessed memories. 

The interruption to all this came as unexpectedly 
as a clap of thunder from a clear sky. A messen- 
ger boy on a wheel whirled up to the front gate with 
a telegram. Tippy signed for it, not wanting the 
boy to see Barbara in such outlandish dress, then 
carried it out to the picnickers. She held it under her 
apron until she reached them. Telegrams always 
spelled trouble to Mrs. Triplett, but Barbara took 
this one from her with a smiling thank you, without 
rising from her seat on the sand. Her father often 
telegraphed instead of writing when away on his va- 
cations, and she knew he was up at a lake resort in 
Michigan, at an Editors’ Convention. Telegrams 
had always been pleasant things in her experience. 


The Telegram That Took Barby Away 91 

But as she tore this open and read she turned pale 
even under her brown stain. 

“It’s papa,” she gasped. “Hurt in an automobile 
accident. They don’t say how bad — just hurt. And 
he wants me. I must take the first train.” 

* She looked up at Mrs. Triplett helplessly, not even 
making an effort to rise from the sand, she was so 
dazed and distressed by the sudden summons. It 
was the first time she had ever had the shock of bad 
news. It was the first time she had ever been called 
upon to act for herself in such an emergency, and 
she felt perfectly numb, mind and body. Tippy’s 
voice sounded a mile away when she said: 

“You can catch the boat. It’s an hour till the 
Dorothy Bradford starts back to Boston.” 

Still Barbara sat limp and powerless, as one sits in 
a nightmare. 

Georgina gave a choking gasp as two awful words 
rose up in her throat and stuck there. “The Tish- 
bite.” Whatever that mysterious horror might be, 
plainly its evil workings had begun. 

“Tut!” exclaimed Tippy, pulling Barbara to her 
feet. “Keep your head. You’ll have to begin scrub- 
bing that brown paint off your face if you expect to 
reach the boat on time.” 

Automatically Georgina responded to that “tut” 
as if it were the old challenge of the powder horn. 
No matter how she shivered she must show what 


92 Georgina of the Rainbows 

brave stuff she was made of. Even with that awful 
foreboding clutching at her heart like an iron hand 
and Barby about to leave her, she mustn’t show one 
sign of her distress. 

It was well that Georgina had learned to move 
briskly in her long following after Tippy, else she 
could not have been of such service in this emergency. 
Her eyes were blurred with tears as she hurried up 
to the garret for suitcase and satchel, and down the 
hall to look up numbers in the telephone directory. 
But it was a comfort even in the midst of her distress 
to feel that she could take such an important part in 
the preparations, that Tippy trusted her to do the 
necessary telephoning, and to put up a lunch for 
Barby without dictating either the messages or the 
contents of the lunch-box. 

When Mr. James Milford called up, immediately 
after Richard had raced home with the news, and 
offered to take Mrs. Huntingdon to the boat in his 
machine, he thought it was Mrs. Huntingdon herself 
who answered him. The trembling voice seemed 
only natural under the circumstances. He would 
have smiled could he have seen the pathetic little face 
uplifted towards the receiver, the quivering lip still 
adorned with the fierce mustachios of Gory George, 
in strange contrast to the soft curls hanging over her 
shoulders now that they were no longer hidden by a 
piratical hat. She had forgotten that she was in 
knickerbockers instead of skirts, and that the old 


The Telegram That Took Barby Away 93 

horse-pistol was still at her belt, until Barbara caught 
her to her at parting with a laugh that turned into 
a sob, looking for a spot on her face clean enough to 
kiss. 

It was all over so soon — the machine whirling up 
to the door and away again to stop at the bank an 
instant for the money which Georgina had telephoned 
to have waiting, and then on to the railroad wharf 
where the Dorothy Bradford had already sounded 
her first warning whistle. Georgina had no time to 
realize what was actually happening until it was over. 
She climbed up into the mammoth willow tree in the 
corner of the yard to watch for the steamboat. It 
would come into view in a few minutes as it ploughed 
majestically through the water towards the light- 
house. 

Then desolation fell upon her. She had never 
realized until that moment how dear her mother was 
to her. Then the thought came to her, suppose it 
was Barby who had been hurt in an accident, and 
she Georgina, was hurrying to her as Barby was hur- 
rying to grandfather Shirley, unknowing what 
awaited her at the journey’s end. For a moment she 
forgot her own unhappiness at being left behind, in 
sympathetic understanding of her mother’s distress. 
She wasn’t going to think about her part of it she 
told herself, she was going to be so brave 

Then her glance fell on the “holiday tree.” 

The holiday tree was a little evergreen of Barby’s 


94 Georgina of the Rainbows 

christening if not of her planting. For every gala 
day in the year it bore strange fruit, no matter what 
the season. At Hallowe’en it was as gay with jack- 
o-lanterns and witches’ caps as if the pixies them- 
selves had decorated it. On Washington’s birthday 
each branch was tipped with a flag and a cherry tart. 
On the fourteenth of February it was hung with val- 
entines, and at Easter she was always sure of finding 
a candy rabbit or two perched among its branches 
and nests of colored eggs. It seemed to be at its 
best at Christmas, but it was when it took its turns at 
birthday celebrations that it was most wonderful. 
Then it blossomed with little glass lanterns of every 
color, glowing like red and green and golden stars. 
Last year it had borne a great toy ship with all sails 
set, and nine “surprise” oranges, round, yellow boxes, 
each containing a gift, because she was nine years 
old. In just two more days she would be ten, and 
Barby gone ! 

At that instant the boat whistle sounded long and 
deep, sending its melodious boom across the water. 
It seemed to strike some chord in the very center of 
her being, and make her feel as if something inside 
were sinking down and down and down. The sen- 
sation was sickening. It grew worse as the boat 
steamed away. She stood up on a limb to watch it. 
Smaller and smaller it seemed, leaving only a long 
plume of smoke in its wake as it disappeared around 
Long Point. Then even the smoke faded, and a for- 


The Telegram That Took Barby Away 95 

lorn little figure, strangely at variance with the fierce 
pirate suit, she crumpled up in the crotch of the wil- 
k>w, her face hidden in her elbow, and began to sob 
piteously: “Oh, Barby! Barby!” 


| 



CHAPTER IX 


THE BIRTHDAY PRISM 



HE Towncrier, passing along the street on an 


early morning trip to the bakery, stopped at the 
door of the antique shop, for a word with Mrs. 
Yates, the lady who kept it. She wanted him to 
“cry” an especial bargain sale of old lamps later in 
the week. That is how he happened to be standing 
in the front door when the crash came in the rear of 
the shop, and it was because he was standing there 
that the crash came. 

Because Mrs. Yates was talking to him she 
couldn’t be at the back door when the fish-boy came 
with the fish, and nobody being there to take it the 
instant he knocked, the boy looked in and threw it 
down on the table nearest the door. And because the 
fish was left to lie there a moment while Mrs. Yates 
finished her conversation, the cat, stretched out on 
the high window ledge above the table, decided to 
have his breakfast without waiting to be called. He 
was an enormous cat by the name of “Grandpa,” 
and because he was old and ponderous, and no longer 
light on his feet, when he leaped from the window- 
sill he came down riumsily in the middle of the very 


The Birthday Prism 97 

table Iy/ 11 of the old lamps which were set aside for 
the bargain sale. 

Of course, it was the biggest and fanciest lamp 
in the lot that was broken — a tall one with a frosted 
glass shade and a row of crystal prisms dangling 
around the bowl of it. It toppled over on to a pair 
of old brass andirons, smashing into a thousand 
pieces. Bits of glass flew in every direction, and 
“Grandpa,” his fur electrified by his fright until he 
looked twice his natural size, shot through the door 
as if fired from a cannon, and was seen no more 
that morning. 

Naturally, Mrs. Yates hurried to the back of the 
store to see what had happened, and Mr. Darcy, fol- 
lowing, picked up from the wreck the only piece of 
the lamp not shattered to bits by the fall. It was one 
of the prisms, which in some miraculous way had 
survived the crash, a beautiful crystal pendant with- 
out a single nick or crack. 

He picked it up and rubbed his coat sleeve down 
each of its three sides, and when he held it up to the 
light it sent a ripple of rainbows dancing across the 
shop. He watched them, pleased as a child; and 
when Mrs. Yates, loud in her complaints of Grandpa, 
came with broom and dustpan to sweep up the litter, 
he bargained with her for the prism. 

That is how he happened to have an offering for 
Georgina’s birthday when he reached the house a 
couple of hours later, not knowing that it was her 


98 Georgina of the Rainbows 

birthday. Nobody had remembered it, Barby being 
gone. 

It seemed to Georgina the forlornest day she had 
ever opened her eyes upon. The very fact that it 
was gloriously sunny with a delicious summer breeze 
ruffling the harbor and sending the white sails scud- 
ding along like wings, made her feel all the more 
desolate. She was trying her best to forget what day 
it was, but there wasn’t much to keep her mind off the 
subject. Even opportunities for helping Tippy were 
taken away, for Belle had come to stay during Bar- 
by’s absence, and she insisted on doing what Geor- 
gina otherwise would have done. 

If Barby had been at home there would have been 
no piano practice on such a gala occasion as a tenth 
birthday. There would have been no time for it in 
the program of joyful happenings. But because time 
dragged, Georgina went to her scales and five-finger 
exercises as usual. With the hour-glass on the piano 
beside her, she practised not only her accustomed 
time, till the sand had run half through, but until all 
but a quarter of it had slipped down. Then she 
sauntered listlessly out into the dining-room and 
/stood by one of the open windows, looking out 
through the wire screen into the garden. 

On any other day she would have found enter- 
tainment in the kitchen listening to Belle and Mrs. 
Triplett. Belle seemed doubly interesting now that 
she had heard of the unused wedding dress and the 
sorrow that would “blight her whole life.” But 


The Birthday Prism 99 

Georgina did not want anyone to see how bitterly she 
was disappointed. 

Just outside, so close to the window that she could 
have reached out and touched it had it not been for 
the screen, stood the holiday tree. It had held out 
its laden arms to her on so many festal occasions 
that Georgina had grown to feel that it took a human 
interest in all her celebrations. To see it standing 
bare now, like any ordinary tree, made her feel that 
her last friend was indifferent. Nobody cared. No- 
body was glad that she was in the world. In spite of 
all she could do to check them, two big tears welled 
up and rolled down her cheeks; then another and an- 
other. She lifted up the hem of her dress to wipe 
them away, and as she did so Uncle Darcy came 
around the house. 

He looked in at the open window, then asked: 
“Weather a bit squally, hey? Better put into port 
and tie up till storm’s over. Let your Uncle Darcy 
have a hand at the helm. Come out here, Barby, and 
let’s talk it over on the door-step.” 

There was something so heartening in the cheery 
voice that Georgina made one more dab at her eyes 
with the hem of her dress skirt, then dropped it and 
went out through the screen door to join him on the 
steps which led down into the garden. At first she 
was loath to confess the cause of her tears. She felt 
ashamed of being caught crying simply because no 
one had remembered the date. It wasn’t that she 


100 Georgina of the Rainbows 

wanted presents, she sobbed. It was that she wanted 
someone to be glad that she’d been born and it was 

so lonesome without Barby 

In the midst of her reluctant confession Mr* 
Darcy bethought himself of the prism in his pocket 
“Here,” he said, drawing it out. “Take this and 
put a rainbow around your troubles. It’s a sort of 
magic glass. When you look through it, it shows 
you things you can’t see with your ordinary eyes. 
Look what it does to the holiday tree.” 

There was a long-drawn breath of amazement 
from Georgina as she held the prism to her eyes and 
looked through it at the tree. 

“Oh! Oh! It does put a rainbow around every 
branch and every little tuft of green needles. It’s 
even lovelier than the colored lanterns were. Isn’t 
it wonderful? It puts a rainbow around the whole 
outdoors.” 

Her gaze went from the grape arbor to the back 
garden gate. Then she jumped up and started 
around the house, the old man following, and smiling 
over each enthusiastic “oh” she uttered, as the prism 
showed her new beauty at every step. He was 
ipleased to have been the source of her new pleasure. 
1 “It’s like looking into a different world,” she cried, 
as she reached the kitchen door, and eagerly turned 
the prism from one object to another. Mrs. Trip- 
lett was scowling intently over the task of trying to 
turn the lid of a glass jar which refused to budge. 


The Birthday Prism 101 

“Oh, it even puts a rainbow around Tippy’s 
frown,” Georgina cried excitedly. Then she ran to 
hold the prism over Belle’s eyes. 

“Look what Uncle Darcy brought me for my 
birthday. See how it puts a rainbow around every 
blessed thing, even the old black pots and pans !” 

In showing it to Tippy she discovered a tiny hole 
in the end of the prism by which it had been hung 
from the lamp, and she ran upstairs to find a piece 
of ribbon to run through it. When she came down 
again, the prism hanging from her neck by a long 
pink ribbon, Uncle Darcy greeted her with a new 
version of the Banbury Cross song: 

“Rings on her fingers and ribbon of rose, 

She shall have rainbows wherever she goes. )y 

“That’s even better than having music wherever 
you go,” answered Georgina, whirling around on her 
toes. Then she stopped in a listening attitude, hear- 
ing the postman. 

When she came back from the front door with 
only a magazine her disappointment was keen, but 
she said bravely: 

“Of course, I knew there couldn’t be a letter from 
Barby this soon. She couldn’t get there till last night 
— but just for a minute I couldn’t help hoping — but 
I didn’t mind it half so much, Uncle Darcy, when I 


102 Georgina of the Rainbows 

looked at the postman through the prism. Even his 
whiskers were blue and red and yellow.” 

That afternoon a little boat went dipping up and 
down across the waves. It was The Betsey, with 
Uncle Darcy pulling at the oars and Georgina as 
passenger. Lifting the prism which still hung from 
her neck by the pink ribbon, she looked out upon 
what seemed to be an enchanted harbor. It was 
filled with a fleet of rainbows. Every sail was out- 
lined with one, every mast edged with lines of red 
and gold and blue. Even the gray wharves were 
tinged with magical color, and the water itself, to 
her reverent thought, suggested the “sea of glass 
mingled with fire,” which is pictured as one of the 
glories of the New Jerusalem. 

“Isn’t it wonderful, Uncle Darcy?” she asked in 
a hushed, awed tone. “It’s just like a miracle the way 
this bit of glass changes the whole world. Isn’t it?” 

Before he could answer, a shrill whistle sounded 
near at hand. They were passing the boathouse on 
the beach below the Green Stairs. Looking up they 
saw Richard, hanging out of the open doors of the 
loft, waving to them. Georgina stood up in the boat 
(and beckoned, but he shook his head, pointing back- 
ward with his thumb into the studio, and disconso- 
lately shrugged his shoulders. 

“He wants to go so bad!” exclaimed Georgina. 
“Seems as if his father’s a mighty slow painter* 


The Birthday Prism 103 

Maybe if you’d ask him the way you did before, 
Uncle Darcy, he’d let Richard off this one more time 
— being my birthday, you know.” 

She looked at him with the bewitching smile which 
he usually found impossible to resist, but this time 
he shook his head. 

“No, I don’t want him along to-day. I’ve brought 
you out here to show you something and have a lit- 
tle talk with you alone. Maybe I ought to wait till 
you’re older before I say what I want to say, but at 
my time of life I’m liable to slip off without much 
warning, and I don’t want to go till I’ve said it to 
you.” 

Georgina put down her prism to stare at him in 
eager-eyed wonder. She was curious to know what 
he could show her out here on the w T ater, and what 
he wanted to tell her that was as important as his 
solemn words implied. 

“Wait till we come to it,” he said, answering the 
unspoken question in her eyes. And Georgina, who 
dearly loved dramatic effects in her own story-telling, 
waited for something — she knew not what — to burst 
upon her expectant sight. 

They followed the line of the beach for some time, 
dodging in between motor boats and launches, under 
the high railroad wharf and around the smaller ones 
where the old fish-houses stood. Past groups of 
children, playing in the sand they went, past artists 


104 Georgina of the Rainbows 

sketching under their white umbrellas, past gardens 
gay with bright masses of color, past drying nets 
spread out on the shore. 

Presently Uncle Darcy stopped rowing and 
pointed across a vacant strip of beach between two 
houses, to one on the opposite side of the street. 

“There it is,” he announced. “That’s what 1 
wanted to show you.” 

Georgina followed the direction of his pointing 
finger. 

“Oh, that !” she said in a disappointed tone. “I’ve 
seen that all my life. It’s nothing but the Figurehead 
House.” 

She was looking at a large white house with a 
portico over the front door, on the roof of which 
portico was perched half of the wooden figure of a 
woman. It was of heroic size, head thrown back as 
if looking off to sea, and with a green wreath in its 
hands. Weather-beaten and discolored, it was not 
an imposing object at first glance, and many a jibe 
and laugh it had called forth from passing tourists. 

Georgina’s disappointment showed in her face. 

“I know all about that,” she remarked. “Mrs. 
Tupman told me herself. She calls it the Lady of 
Mystery. She said that years and years ago a 
schooner put out from this town on a whaling cruise, 
and was gone more than a year. When it was cross- 
ing the equator, headed for home, the look-out at 


The Birthday Prism 105 

the masthead saw a strange object in the water that 
looked like a woman afloat. The Captain gave or- 
ders to lower the boats, and when they did so they 
found this figurehead. She said it must have come 
from the prow of some great clipper in the East 
India trade. They were in the Indian Ocean, you 
know. 

“There had been some frightful storms and after- 
wards they heard of many wrecks. This figurehead 
was so long they had to cut it in two to get it into 
the hold of the vessel. They brought it home and 
set it up there over the front door, and they call it 
the Lady of Mystery, because they said ‘from whence 
that ship came, what was its fate arid what was its 
destination will always be shrouded in mystery.* And 
Mrs. Tupman said that a famous artist looked at it 
once and said it was probably the work of a Spanish 
artist, and that from the pose of its head and the 
wreath in its hands he was sure it was intended to 
represent Hope. Was that what you were going to 
tell me?” 

The old man had rested on his oars while she hur- 
ried through this tale, with a mischievous twinkle in 
her eyes, as if she thought she was forestalling him. 
Now he picked them up again and began rowing out 
into the harbor. 

“That was a part of it,” he admitted, “but that’s 
only the part that the whole town knows. That old 


106 Georgina of the Rainbows 

figurehead has a meaning for me that nobody else 
that’s living knows about. That’s what I want to 
pass on to you.” 

He rowed several minutes more before he said 
slowly, with a wistful tenderness coming into his dim 
old eyes as he looked at her: 

“Georgina, I don’t suppose anybody’s ever told 
you about the troubles I’ve had. They wouldn’t talk 
about such things to a child like you. Maybe I 
shouldn’t, now; but when I saw how disappointed 
you were this morning, I said to myself, ‘If she’s old 
enough to feel trouble that way, she’s old enough to 
understand and to be helped by hearing about 
mine.’ ” 

It seemed hard for him to go on, for again he 
paused, looking off toward the lighthouse in the dis- 
tance. Then he said slowly, in a voice that shook 
at times : 

“Once — I had a boy — that I set all my hopes on — 
just as a man puts all his cargo into one vessel; and 
nobody was etfer prouder than I was, when that little 
craft went sailing along with the best of them. I 
used to look at him and think, ‘Danny’ll weather the 
seas no matter how rough they are, and he’ll bring up 
in the harbor I’m hoping he’ll reach, with all flags 
flying.’ And then — something went wrong ” 

The tremulous voice broke. “My little ship went 
down — all my precious cargo lost ” 

Another and a longer pause. In it Georgina 


The Birthday Prism 107 

seemed to hear Cousin Mehitable’s husky voice, half 
whispering: 

“And the lamp threw a shadow on the yellow 
blind , plain as a photograph. The shadow of an old 
man sitting with his arms flung out across the table 
and his head bowed on them. And he was groan- 
ing , ‘ Oh , my Danny! My Danny! If you could only 
have gone that way/ ” 

For a moment Georgina felt the cruel hurt of his 
grief as if the pain had stabbed her own heart. The 
old man went on : 

“If it had only been any other kind of a load, any- 
thing but disgrace, I could have carried it without 
flinching. But that, it seemed I just couldn’t face. 
Only the good Lord knows how I lived through those 
first few weeks. Then your grandfather Huntingdon 
came to me. He was always a good friend. And he 
asked me to row him out here on the water. When 
we passed theFigurehead House he pointed up at that 
head. It was all white and fair in those days, before 
the paint wore off. And he said, ‘Dan’l Darcy, as 
long as a man keeps Hope at the prow he keeps 
afloat. As soon as he drops it he goes to pieces and 
down to the bottom, the way that ship did when it 
lost its figurehead. You mustn’t let go, Dan’l. You 
must keep Hope at the prow. 

“ ‘Somewhere in God’s universe either in this 
world or another your boy is alive and still your son. 
You’ve got to go on hoping that if he’s innocent his 


io8 Georgina of the Rainbows 

name will be cleared of this disgrace, and if he’s 
guilty he’ll wipe out the old score against him some 
way and make good.’ 

“And then he gave me a line to live by. A line 
he said that had been written by a man who was 
stone blind, and hadn’t anything to look forward to 
all the rest of his life but groping in the dark. He 
said he’d not 


“ ( Bate a jot 

Of heart or hope, hut still hear up and steer 

Right onward / 

“At first it didn’t seem to mean anything to me, but 
he made me say it after him as if it were a sort of 
promise, and I’ve been saying it every day of every 
year since then. I’d said it to myself first, when I 
met people on the street that I knew were thinking 
of Danny’s disgrace, and I didn’t see how I was 
going to get up courage to pass ’em. And I said it 
when I was lying on my bed at night with my heart 
so sore and heavy I couldn’t sleep, and after a while 
it did begin to put courage into me, so that I could 
hope in earnest. And when I did that, little 
lass ” 

He leaned over to smile into her eyes, now full 
of tears, he had so wrought upon her tender sym- 
pathies — 

“When I did that, it put a rainbow around my 


The Birthday Prism 109 

trouble just as that prism did around your empty 
holiday tree. It changed the looks of the whole 
world for me. 

“That’ s what I brought you out here to tell you, 
Georgina. I want to give you the same thing that 
your grandfather Huntingdon gave me — that line to 
live by. Because troubles come to everybody. 
They’ll come to you, too, but I want you to know this, 
Baby, they can’t hurt you as long as you keep Hope 
at the prow, because Hope is a magic glass that 
makes rainbows of our tears. Now you won’t forget 
that, will you? Even after Uncle Darcy is dead and 
gone, you’ll remember that he brought you out here 
on your birthday to give you that good word — ‘still 
hear up and steer right onward / no matter what 
happens. And to tell you that in all the long, hard 
years he’s lived through, he’s proved it was good.” 

Georgina, awed and touched of soul, could only 
nod her assent. But because Childhood sometimes 
has no answer to make to the confidences of Age is 
no reason that they are not taken to heart and stowed 
away there for the years to build upon. In the un- 
broken silence with which they rowed back to shore, 
Georgina might have claimed three score years be- 
sides her own ten, so perfect was the feeling of com- 
radeship between them. 

As they passed the pier back of the antique shop, 
a great gray cat rose and stretched itself, then walked 
ponderously down to the water’s edge. It was 


no Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Grandpa.” Georgina, laughing a little shakily be« 
cause of recent tears, raised her prism to put a rain- 
bow around the cat’s tail, unknowing that but for him 
the crystal pendant would now be hanging from an 
antique lamp instead of from the ribbon around her 
neck. 



CHAPTER X 


MOVING PICTURES 

t 

TT often happens that when one is all primed and 
cocked for trouble, that trouble flaps its wings 
and flies away for a time, leaving nothing to fire at. 
So Georgina, going home with her prism and her 
“line to live by,” ready and eager to prove how 
bravely she could meet disappointments, found only 
pleasant surprises awaiting her. 

Mrs. Triplett had made a birthday cake in her ab- 
sence. It was on the supper table with ten red 
candles atop. And there was a note from Barby be- 
side her plate which had come in the last mail. It 
had been posted at some way-station. There was a 
check inside for a dollar which she was to spend as 
she pleased. A dear little note it was, which made 
Georgina’s throat ache even while it brought a glow 
to her heart. Then Belle, who had not known it was 
her birthday in time to make her a present, an- 
nounced that she would take her to a moving picture 
show after supper, instead. 

Georgina had frequently been taken to afternoon 
performances, but never at night. It was an adven- 
ture in itself just to be down in the part of town 
hi 


112 Georgina of the Rainbows 

where the shops were, when they were all lighted, and 
when the summer people were surging along the 
board-walk and out into the middle of the narrow 
street in such crowds that the automobiles and ‘‘ac- 
commodations” had to push their way through 
slowly, with a great honking of warning horns. 

The Town Hall was lighted for a dance when 
they passed it. The windows of the little souvenir 
shops seemed twice as attractive as when seen by day, 
and early as it was in the evening, people were al- 
ready lined up in the drug-store, three deep around 
the soda-water fountain. 

Georgina, thankful that Tippy had allowed her to 
wear her gold locket for the occasion, walked down 
the aisle and took her seat near the stage, feeling as 
conspicuous and self-conscious as any debutante en- 
tering a box at Grand Opera. 

It was a hot night, but on a line with the front 
seats, there was a double side door opening out onto 
a dock. From where Georgina sat she could look out 
through the door and see the lights of a hundred 
boats twinkling in long wavy lines across the black 
water, and now and then a salt breeze with the fishy 
tang she loved, stole across the room and touched her 
cheek like a cool finger. 

The play was not one which Barbara would have 
chosen for Georgina to see, being one that was adver- 
tised as a thriller. It was full of hair-breadth es- 
capes and tragic scenes. There was a shipwreck in 


Moving Pictures 113 

it, and passengers were brought ashore in the 
breeches buoy, just as she had seen sailors brought 
in on practice days over at the Race Point Life- 
saving station. And there was a still form stretched 
out stark and dripping under a piece of tarpaulin, 
and a girl with long fair hair streaming wildly over 
her shoulders knelt beside it wringing her hands. 

Georgina stole a quick side-glance at Belle. That 
was the way it had been in the story of Emmett Pot- 
ter’s drowning, as they told it on the day of Cousin 
Mehitable’s visit. Belle’s hands were locked to- 
gether in her lap, and her lips were pressed in a thin 
line as if she were trying to keep from saying some- 
thing. Several times in the semi-darkness of the 
house her handkerchief went furtively to her eyes. 

Georgina’s heart beat faster. Somehow, with the 
piano pounding out that deep tum-tum, like waves 
booming up on the rocks, she began to feel strangely 
confused, as if she were the heroine on the films; 
as if she were kneeling there on the shore in that 
tragic moment of parting from her dead lover. She 
was sure that she knew exactly how Belle felt then, 
how she was feeling now. I 

When the lights were switched on again and they! 
rose to go out, Georgina was so deeply under the 
spell of the play that it gave her a little shock of 
surprise when Belle began talking quite cheerfully 
and in her ordinary manner to her next neighbor. 
She even laughed in response to some joking remark 


1 14 Georgina of the Rainbows 

as they edged their way slowly up the aisle to the 
door. It seemed to Georgina that if she had lived 
through a scene like the one they had just witnessed, 
she could never smile again. On the way out she 
glanced up again at Belle several times, wondering. 

Going home the street was even more crowded 
than it had been coming. They could barely push 
their way along, and were bumped into constantly 
by people dodging back to escape the jam when the 
crowd had to part to let a vehicle through. But after 
a few blocks of such jostling the going was easier. 
The drug-store absorbed part of the throng, and 
most of the procession turned up Carver Street to 
the Gifford House and the cottages beyond on Brad- 
ford Street. 

By the time Georgina and Belle came to the last 
half-mile of ihe plank walk, scarcely a footstep 
sounded behind them. After passing the Green 
Stairs there was an unobstructed view of the harbor. 
A full moon was high overhead, flooding the water 
and beach with such a witchery of light that Geor- 
gina moved along as if she were in a dream — in a 
silver dream beside a silver sea. 
f Belle pointed to a little pavilion in sight of the 
ibreakwater. “Let’s go over there and sit down a 
few minutes,” she said. “It’s a waste of good ma- 
terial to go indoors on a night like this.” 

They crossed over, sinking in the sand as they 
stepped from the road to the beach, till Georgina 


Moving Pictures 115 

had to take off her slippers and shake them before 
she could settle down comfortably on the bench in 
the pavilion. They sat there a while without speak- 
ing, just as they had sat before the pictures on the 
films, for never on any film was ever shown a scene 
of such entrancing loveliness as the one spread out 
before them. In the broad path made by the moon 
hung ghostly sails, rose great masts, twinkled 
myriads of lights. It was so still they could hear 
the swish of the tide creeping up below, the dip of 
near-by oars and the chug of a motor boat, far away 
down by the railroad wharf. 

Then Belle began to talk. She looked straight out 
across the shining path of the moon and spoke as if 
she were by herself. She did not look at Georgina, 
sitting there beside her. Perhaps if she had, she 
would have realized that her listener was only a 
child and would not have said all she did. Or maybe, 
something within her felt the influence of the night, 
the magical drawing of the moon as the tide feels it, 
and she could not hold back the long-repressed 
speech that rose to her lips. Maybe it was that the 
play they had seen, quickened old memories into pain- 
ful life again. 

It was on a night just like this, she told Georgina, 
that Emmett first told her that he cared for her — 
ten years ago this summer. Ten years ! The whole 
of Georgina’s little lifetime! And now Belle was 
twenty-seven. Twenty-seven seemed very old to 


Ii6 ' Georgina of the Rainbows 

Georgina. She stole another upward glance at her 
companion. Belle did not look old, sitting there in 
her white dress, like a white moonflower in that silver 
radiance, a little lock of soft blonde hair fluttering 
across her cheek. 

In a rush of broken sentences with long pauses be- 
tween which somehow told almost as much as words, 
Belle recalled some of the scenes of that summer, and 
Georgina, who up to this night had only glimpsed the 
dim outlines of romance, as a child of ten would 
glimpse them through old books, suddenly saw it 
face to face, and thereafter found it something to 
wonder about and dream sweet, vague dreams over. 

Suddenly Belle stood up with a complete change 
of manner. 

“My! it must be getting late,” she said briskly. 
“Aunt Maria will scold if I keep you out any longer.” 

Going home, she was like the Belle whom Geor- 
gina had always known — so different from the one 
lifting the veil of memories for the little while they 
sat in the pavilion. 

Georgina had thought that with no Barby to “but- 
ton her eyes shut with a kiss” at the end of her birth- 
day, the going-to-sleep time would be sad. But she 
was so busy recalling the events of the day that she 
never thought of the omitted ceremony. For a long 
time she lay awake, imagining all sorts of beautiful 
scenes in which she was the heroine. 

First, she went back to what Uncle Darcy had 


Moving Pictures 117 

tola her, and imagined herself as rescuing an only 
child who was drowning. The whole town stood by 
and cheered when she came up with it, dripping, and 
the mother took her in her arms and said, “ You are 
our prism, Georgina Huntingdon! But for your 
noble act our lives would be, indeed, desolate. It 
is you who have filled them with rainbows.” 

Then she was in a ship crossing the ocean, and a 
poor sailor hearing her speak of Cape Cod would 
come and ask her to tell him of its people, and she 
would find he was Danny. She would be the means 
of restoring him to his parents. 

And then, she and Richard on some of their treas- 
ure-hunting expeditions which they were still plan- 
ning every time they met, would unearth a casket 
some dark night by the light of a fitful lantern, and 
inside would be a confession written by the man v/ho 
had really stolen the money, saying that Dan Darcy 
was innocent. And Uncle Darcy and Aunt Elspeth 

would be so heavenly glad The tears came to 

Georgina’s eyes as she pictured the scene in the little 
house in Fishburn Court, it came to her so vividly. 

The clock downstairs struck twelve, but still she 
went on with the pleasing pictures moving through' 
her mind as they had moved across the films earlier 
in the evening. The last one was a combination of 
what she had seen there and what Belle had told 
her. 

She was sitting beside a silver sea across which 


1 18 Georgina of the Rainbows 

a silver moon was making a wonderful shining path 
of silver ripples, and somebody was telling her — 
what Emmett had told Belle ten years ago. And she 
knew past all doubting that if that shadowy some- 
body beside her should die, she would carry the mem- 
ory of him to her grave as Belle was doing. It 
seemed such a sweet, sad way to live that she thought 
it would be more interesting to have her life like that, 
than to have it go along like the lives of all the mar- 
ried people of her acquaintance. *And if he had a 
father like Emmett’s father she would cling to him 
as Belle did, and go to see him often and take the 
part of a real daughter to him. But she wouldn’t 
want him to be like Belle’s “Father Potter.” He was 
an old fisherman, too crippled to follow the sea any 
longer, so now he was just a mender of nets, sitting 
all day knotting twine with dirty tar-blackened fin- 
gers. 

The next morning when she went downstairs it 
was Belle and not Mrs. Triplett who was stepping 
about the kitchen in a big gingham apron, preparing 
breakfast. Mrs. Triplett was still in bed. Such a 
thing had never happened before within Georgina’s 
recollection. 

“It’s the rheumatism in her back,” Belle reported. * 
“It’s so bad she can’t lie still with any comfort, and 
she can’t move without groaning. So she’s sort of 
‘between the de’il and the deep sea.’ And touchy is 
no name for it. She doesn’t like it if you don’t and 


Moving Pictures 119 

she doesn’t like it if you do; but you can’t wonder 
when the pain’s so bad. It’s pretty near lumbago.” 

Georgina, who had finished her dressing by tying 
the prism around her neck, was still burning with the 
desire which Uncle Darcy’s talk had kindled within 
her, to be a little comfort to everybody. 

“Let me take her toast and tea up to her,” she 
begged. With that toast and tea she intended to 
pass along the good word Uncle Darcy bad given 
her — “the line to live by.” But Tippy was in no 
humor to be adjured by a chit of a child to bear up 
and steer right onward. Such advice would have 
been coldly received just then even from her minister. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she 
exclaimed testily. “Bear up? Of course I’ll bear 
up. There’s nothing else to do with rheumatism, but 
you needn’t come around with any talk of putting 
rainbows around it or me either.” 

She gave her pillow an impatient thump with her 
hard knuckles. 

“Deliver me from people who make it their busi- 
ness in life always to act cheerful no matter what. 
The Scripture itself says ‘There’s a time to laugh 
and a time to weep, a time to mourn and a time to 
dance.’ When the weeping time comes I can’t abide 
either people or books that go around spreading 
cheerful sayings on everybody like salve !” 

Tippy, lying there with her hair screwed into a 
tight little button on the top of her head, looked 


120 Georgina of the Rainbows 

strangely unlike herself. Georgina descended to the 
kitchen, much offended. It hurt her feelings to have 
her good offices spurned in such a way. She didn’t 
care how bad anybody’s rheumatism was she mut- 
tered. “It was no excuse for saying such nasty things 
! to people who were trying to be kind to them.” 

Belle suggested presently that the customary piano 
practice be omitted that morning for fear it might 
disturb Aunt Maria, so when the usual little tasks 
were done Georgina would have found time drag- 
ging, had it not been for the night letter which a 
messenger boy brought soon after breakfast. Grand- 
father Shirley was better than she had expected to 
find him, Barby wired. Particulars would follow 
soon in a letter. It cheered Georgina up so much 
that she took a pencil and tablet of paper up into the 
willow tree and wrote a long account to her mother 
of the birthday happenings. What with the red- 
candled cake and the picture show and the afternoon 
in the boat it sounded as if she had had a very happy 
day. But mostly she wrote about the prism, and what 
Uncle Darcy had told her about the magic glass of 
Hope. When it was done she went in to Belle. 

“May I go down to the post-office to mail this and 
stop on my way back at the Green Stairs and see if 
Richard can come and play with me?” she asked. 

Belle considered. “Better stay down at the Mil- 
ford’s to do your playing,” she answered. “It might 


Moving Pictures 121 

bother Aunt Maria to have a boy romping around 
here.” 

So Georgina fared forth, after taking off her prism 
and hanging it in a safe place. Only Captain Kidd 
frisked down to meet her when she stood under the 
studio window and gave the alley yodel which Rich- 
ard had taught her. There was no answer. She re- 
peated it several times, and then Mr. Moreland ap- 
peared at the window, in his artist’s smock with a pal- 
ette on his thumb and a decidedly impatient expres- 
sion on his handsome face. Richard was posing, he 
told her, and couldn’t leave for half an hour. His 
tone was impatient, too, for he had just gotten a 
good start after many interruptions. 

Undecided whether to go back home or sit down 
on the sand and wait, Georgina stood looking idly 
about her. And while she hesitated, Manuel and 
Joseph and Rosa came straggling along the beach in 
search of adventure. 

It came to Georgina like an inspiration that it 
wasn’t Barby w T ho had forbidden her to play with 
them, it was Tippy. And with a vague feeling that 
she was justified in disobeying her because of her 
recent crossness, she rounded them up for a chase 
over the granite slabs of the breakwater. If they 
would be Indians, she proposed, she’d be the Deer- 
slayer, like the hero of the Leather-Stocking Tales, 
and chase ’em with a gun. 


122 Georgina of the Rainbows 

They had never heard of those tales, but they were 
more than willing to undertake any game which Geor- 
gina might propose. So after a little coaching 
in war-whoops, with a battered tin pan for a tom-tom, 
three impromptu Indians sped down the beach under* 
the studio windows, pursued by a swift-footed Deer- 
slayer with flying curls. The end of a broken oar 
was her musket, which she brandished fiercely as she 
echoed their yells. 

Mr. Moreland gave a groan of despair as he 
looked at his model when those war-whoops broke 
loose. Richard, who had succeeded after many trials 
in lapsing into the dreamy attitude which his father 
wanted, started up at the first whoop, so alert and 
interested that his nostrils quivered. He scented ex- 
citement of some kind and was so eager to be in the 
midst of it that the noise of the tom-tom made him 
wriggle in his chair. 

He looked at his father appealingly, then made 
an effort to settle down into his former attitude. His 
body assumed the same listless pose as before, but 
his eyes were so eager and shining with interest that 
they fairly spoke each time the rattly drumming on 
the tin pan sounded a challenge. 

“It’s no use, Dicky,” said his father at last. “It’s 
all up with us for this time. You might as well go 
on. But I wish that little tom-boy had stayed at 
home.” 

And Richard went, with a yell- and a hand-spring, 


Moving Pictures 123 

to throw in his lot with Manuel and Joseph and be 
chased by the doughty Deer-slayer and her hound. 
In the readjustment of parts Rosa was told to answer 
to the name of Hector. It was all one to Rosa 
whether she w T as hound or redskin, so long as she 
was allowed a part in the thrilling new game. Rich- 
ard had the promise of being Deer-slayer next time 
they played it. 



CHAPTER XI 


THE OLD RIFLE GIVES UP ITS SECRET 

|^UT of that game with forbidden playmates, grew 
events which changed the lives of several peo- 
ple. It began by Richard’s deciding that a real gun 
was necessary for his equipment if he was to play 
the part of Leather-Stocking properly. Also, he 
argued, it would be a valuable addition to their stock 
of fire-arms. The broken old horse-pistols were 
good enough to play at pirating with, but something 
which would really shoot was needed when they 
started out in earnest on a sure-enough adventure. 

Georgina suggested that he go to Fishburn Court 
and borrow a rifle that she had seen up in Uncle 
Darcy’s attic. She would go with him and do the 
asking, she added, but Belle had promised to take 
her with her the next time she went to see the net- 
mender, and the next time would be the following 
afternoon, if Tippy was well enough to be up and 
around. Georgina couldn’t miss the chance to see 
inside the cottage that had been the home of a hero 
and Belle’s drowned lover. She wanted to see the 
newspaper which Mr. Potter showed everybody who 
went to the house. It had an account of the wreck 
124 


The Old Rifle Gives Up Its Secret 125 

and the rescue in it, with Emmett’s picture on the 
front page, and black headlines under it that said, 
“Died like a hero.” 

Tippy was w T ell enough to be up next day, so 
Richard went alone to Fishburn Court, and Geor- 
gina trudged along the sandy road with Belle to the 
weather-beaten cottage on the edge of the cranberry 
bog. Belle told her more about the old man as they 
walked along. 

“Seems as if he just lives on that memory. He 
can’t get out in the boats any more, being so crippled 
up, and he can’t see to read much, so there’s lots of 
time for him to sit and think on the past. If it 
wasn’t for the nets he’d about lose his mind. I 
wouldn’t say it out, and you needn’t repeat it, but 
sometimes I think it’s already touched a mite. You 
see the two of them lived there together so long 
alone, that Emmett was all in all to his father. I 
suppose that’s why Emmett is all he can talk about 
now.” 

When they reached the cottage Mr. Potter was 
sitting out in front as usual, busy with his work. 
Georgina was glad that he did not offer to shake 
hands. His were so dirty and black with tar she felt 
she could not bear to touch them. He was a swarthy 
old man with skin like wrinkled leather, and a bushy, 
grizzled beard which grew up nearly to his eyes. 
Again Georgina wondered, looking at Belle in her 
crisp, white dress and white shoes. How could she 


126 Georgina of the Rainbows 

care for this unkempt old creature enough to call him 
Father? 

As she followed Belle around inside the dreary 
three-room cottage she wanted to ask if this would 
have been her home if Emmett had not been 
drowned, but she felt a delicacy about asking such 
a question. She couldn’t imagine Belle in such a 
setting, but after she had followed her around a 
while longer she realized that the house wouldn’t 
stay dreary with such a mistress. In almost no time 
the place was put to rights, and there was a pan of 
cookies ready to slip into the oven. 

When the smell of their browning stole out to 
the front door the old man left his bench and came 
in to get a handful of the hot cakes. Then, just as 
Belle said he would, he told Georgina all that had 
happened the night of the wreck. 

“That’s the very chair he was sittin’ in, when Luke 
Jones come in with the word that men were needed. 
He started right off with Luke soon as he could get 
into his oil-skins, for ’twas stormin’ to beat the band. 
But he didn’t go fur. Almost no time it seemed like, 
he was cornin’ into the house agin, and he went into 
that bedroom there, and shet the door behind him. 
That of itself ought to ’uv made me know something 
out of the usual was beginnin’ to happen, for he never 
done such a thing before. A few minutes later he 
came out with an old rifle that him and Dan Darcy 


The Old Rifle Gives Up Its Secret 127 

used to carry around in the dunes for target shootin’ 
and he set it right down in that corner by the chim- 
ney jamb. 

“ ‘First time anybody passes this way goin’ down 
to Fishburn Court,’ he says, ‘I wish you’d send this 
/along to Uncle Dan’l. It’s his by rights, and he’d 
ought a had it long ago.’ 

“An’ them was his last words to me, except as he 
pulled the door to after him he called ‘Good-bye Pop, 
if I don’t see you agin.’ 

“I don’t know when he’d done such a thing before 
as to say good-bye when he went out, and I’ve often 
wondered over it sence, could he ’a had any warnin’ 
that something was goin’ to happen to him?” 

Georgina gazed at the picture in the newspaper 
long and curiously. It had been copied from a faded 
tin-type, but even making allowances for that Em- 
mett didn’t look as she imagined a hero should, nor 
did it seem possible it could be the man Belle had 
talked about. She wished she hadn’t seen it. It 
dimmed the glamor of romance which seemed to sur- 
round him like a halo. Hearing about him in the 
magical moonlight she had pictured him as looking 
as Sir Galahad. But if this was what he really looked 

like Again she glanced wonderingly at Belle. 

How could she care so hard for ten long years for 
just an ordinary man like that? 

When it was time to go home Belle suggested that 


128 Georgina of the Rainbows 

they walk around by Fishburn Court. It would be 
out of their way, but she had heard that Aunt Elspeth 
wasn’t as well as usual. 

“Emmett always called her Aunt,” she explained 
to Georgina as they walked along, “so I got into the 
way of doing it, too. He was so fond of Dan’s 
mother. She was so good to him after his own went 
that I feel I want to be nice to her whenever I can, 
for his sake.” 

“You know,” she continued, “Aunt Elspeth never 
would give up but that Dan was innocent, and since 
hen memory’s been failing her this last year, she talks 
all the time about his coming home; just lies there in 
bed half her time and babbles about him. It almost 
kills Uncle Dan’l to hear her, because, of course, he 
knows the truth of the matter, that Dan was guilty. 
He as good as confessed it before he ran away, and 
the running away itself told the story.” 

When they reached Fishburn Court they could see 
two people sitting in front of the cottage. Uncle 
Darcy was in an armchair on the grass with one of 
the cats in his lap, and Richard sat on one seat of the 
red, wooden swing with Captain Kidd on the oppo- 
site one. Richard had a rifle across his knees, the 
one Georgina had suggested borrowing. He passed 
his hand caressingly along its stock now and then, 
and at intervals raised it to sight along the barrel. 
It was so heavy he could not keep it from wobbling 
when he raised it to take aim in various directions. 


The Old Rifle Gives Up Its Secret 129 

At the click of the gate-latch the old man tumbled 
1 ellownose out of his lap and rose stiffly to welcome 
his guests. 

“Come right in,” he said cordially. “Mother’ll be 
glad to see you, Belle. She’s been sort of low in her 
mind lately, and needs cheering up.” 

He led the way into a low-ceilinged, inner bedroom 
with the shades all pulled down. It was so dark, 
compared to the glaring road they had been follow- 
ing, that Georgina blinked at the dim interior. She 
could scarcely make out the figure on the high-posted 
bed, and drew back, whispering to Belle that she’d 
stay outside until they were ready to go home. Leav- 
ing them on the threshold, she went back to the shady 
door-yard to a seat in the swing beside Captain 
Kidd. 

“It’s Uncle Darcy’s son’s rifle,” explained Rich- 
ard. “He’s been telling me about him. Feel how 
smooth the stock is.” 

Georgina reached over and passed her hand lightly 
along the polished wood. 

“He and a friend of his called Emmett Potter 
used to carry it on the dunes sometimes to shoot at 
a mark with. It wasn’t good for much else, it’s so • 
old. Dan got it in a trade once; traded a whole lit- 
ter of collie pups for it. Uncle Darcy says he’d for- 
gotten there was such a gun till somebody brought it 
to him after Emmett was drowned.” 

“Oh,” interrupted Georgina, her eyes wide with 


130 Georgina of the Rainbows 

interest. “Emmett’s father has just been telling me 
about this very rifle. But I didn’t dream it was the 
one I’d seen up in the attic here. He showed me the 
corner where Emmett stood it when he left for the 
wreck, and told what was to be done with it. ‘Them 
were his last words,’ ” she added, quoting Mr. Pot- 
ter. 

She reached out her hand for the clumsy old fire- 
arm and almost dropped it, finding it so much heavier 
than she expected. She wanted to touch with her 
own fingers the weapon that had such an interesting 
history, and about which a hero had spoken his last 
words. 

“The hammer’s broken,” continued Richard. 
“Whoever brought it home let it fall. It’s all rusty, 
too, because it was up in the attic so many years and 
the roof leaked on it. But Uncle Darcy said lots of 
museums would be glad to have it because there 
aren’t many of these old flint-locks left now. He’s 
going to leave it to the Pilgrim museum up by the 
monument when he’s dead and gone, but he wants to 
keep it as long as he lives because Danny set such 
store by it.” 

“There’s some numbers or letters or something 
on it,” announced Georgina, peering at a small brass 
plate on the stock. “I can’t make them out. I tell 
you what let’s do,” she exclaimed in a burst of en- 
thusiasm. “Let’s polish it up so’s we can read them. 


The Old Rifle Gives Up Its Secret 131 

Tippy uses vinegar and wood ashes for brass. I’ll 
run get some.” 

Georgina was enough at home here to find what 
she wanted without asking, and as full of resources 
as Robinson Crusoe. She was back in a very few 
minutes with a shovel full of ashes from the kitchen 
stove, and an old can lid full of vinegar, drawn from 
a jug in the corner cupboard. With a scrap of a 
rag dipped first in vinegar, then in ashes, she began 
scrubbing the brass plate diligently. It had corroded 
until there was an edge of green entirely around it. 

“I love to take an old thing like this and scrub 
it till it shines like gold,” she said, scouring away 
with such evident enjoyment of the job that Richard 
insisted on having a turn. She surrendered the rag 
grudgingly, but continued to direct operations. 

“Now dip it in the ashes again. No, not that way, 
double the rag up and use more vinegar. Rub around 
that other corner a while. Here, let me show you.” 

She took the rifle away from him again and pro- 
ceeded to illustrate her advice. Suddenly she looked 
up, startled. 

“I believe we’ve rubbed it loose. It moved a little 
to one side. See?” 

He grabbed it back and examined it closely. “I 
bet it’s meant to move,” he said finally. “It looks 
like a lid, see ! It slides sideways.” 

“Oh, I remember now,” she cried, much excited. 


132 Georgina of the Rainbows 

‘‘That’s the way Leather-Stocking’s rifle was made. 
There was a hole in the stock with a brass plate over 
it, and he kept little pieces of oiled deer-skin inside 
of it to wrap bullets in before he loaded ’em in. I 
remember just as plain, the place in the story where 
he stopped to open it and take out a piece of oiled 
deer-skin when he started to load.” 

As she explained she snatched the rifle back into 
her own hands once more, and pried at the brass 
plate until she broke the edge of her thumb nail. 
Then Richard took it, and with the aid of a rusty 
button-hook which he happened to have in his pocket, 
having found it on the street that morning, he pushed 
the plate entirely back. 

“There’s something white inside!” he exclaimed. 

Instantly two heads bent over with his in an at- 
tempt to see, for Captain Kidd’s shaggy hair was side 
by side with Georgina’s curls, his curiosity as great 
as hers. 

“Whatever’s in there has been there an awful long 
time,” said Richard as he poked at the contents with 
his button-hook, “for Uncle Darcy said the rifle’s 
never been used since it was brought back to him.” 

“And it’s ten years come Michaelmas since Em- 
mett was drowned,” said Georgina, again quoting the 
old net-mender. 

The piece of paper which they finally succeeded in 
drawing out had been folded many times and 


The Old Rifle Gives Up Its Secret 133 

crumpled into a flat wad. Evidently the message on 
it had been scrawled hastily in pencil by someone little 
used to letter writing. It was written in an odd 
hand, and the united efforts of the two little readers 
could decipher only parts of it. 

“I can read any kind of plain writing like they do ** 
in school,” said Richard, “but not this sharp-cornered 
kind where the m’s and u’s are alike, and all the tails 
are pointed.” 

Slowly they puzzled out parts of it, halting long 
over some of the undecipherable words, but a few 
words here and there were all they could recognize. 
There were long stretches that had no meaning what- 
ever for them. This much, however, they managed 
to spell out: 

“Dan never took the money. ... I did it. . . . 
He went away because he knew I did it and wouldn’t 
tell. . . . Sorry. . . . Can’t stand it any longer. . . . 
Put an end to it all. ...” 

It was signed “Emmett Potter.” 

The two children looked at each other with puz- 
zled eyes until into Georgina’s came a sudden and 
startled understanding. Snatching up the paper she 
almost fell out of the swing and ran towards the 
house screaming: 

“Uncle Darcy! Uncle Darcy! Look what we’ve 
found.” 

She tripped over a piece of loose carpet spread 


134 Georgina of the Rainbows 

just inside the front door as a rug and fell full length, 
but too excited to know that she had skinned her 
elbow she scrambled up, still calling: 

“Uncle Darcy, Dan never took the money . It was 
Emmett Potter . He said so himself!” 



CHAPTER XII 


A HARD PROMISE 


DOZEN times in Georgina’s day-dreaming she 



had imagined this scene. She had run to Uncle 
Darcy with the proof of Dan’s innocence, heard his 
glad cry, seen his face fairly transfigured as he read 
the confession aloud. Now it was actually happen- 
ing before her very eyes, but where was the scene 
of heavenly gladness that should have followed? 

Belle, startled even more than he by Georgina’s 
outcry, and quicker to act, read the message over his 
shoulder, recognized the handwriting and grasped 
the full significance of the situation before he reached 
the name at the end. For ten years three little notes 
in that same peculiar hand had lain in her box of 
keepsakes. There was no mistaking that signature. 
She had read it and cried over it so many times that 
now as it suddenly confronted her with its familiar 
twists and angles it was as startling as if Emmett’s 
voice had called to her. 

As Uncle Darcy looked up from the second read- 
ing, with a faltering exclamation of thanksgiving, she 
snatched the paper from his shaking hands and tore 
it in two. Then crumpling the pieces and flinging 
them from her, she seized him by the wrists. 

“No, you’re not going to tell the whole world,” 
she cried wildly, answering the announcement he 


136 Georgina of the Rainbows 

made with the tears raining down his cheeks. 
“You’re not going to tell anybody! Think of me! 
Think of Father Potter!” 

She almost screamed her demand. He could 
hardly believe it was Belle, this frenzied girl, who, 
heretofore, had seemed the gentlest of souls. He 
looked at her in a dazed way, so overwhelmed by 
the discovery that had just been made, that he failed 
to comprehend the reason for her white face and 
agonized eyes, till she threw up her arms crying: 

“ Emmett a thief ! God in heaven ! It’ll kill me 1” 

It was the sight of Georgina’s shocked face with 
Richard’s at the door, that made things clear to the 
old man. He waved them away, with hands which 
shook as if he had the palsy. 

“Go on out, children, for a little while,” he said 
gently, and closed the door in their faces. 

Slowly they retreated to the swing, Georgina clasp- 
ing the skinned elbow which had begun to smart. 
She climbed into one seat of the swing and Richard 
and Captain Kidd took the other. As they swung 
back and forth she demanded in a whisper: 

“Why is it that grown people always shut children 
out of their secrets? Seems as if we have a right to 
know what’s the matter when we found the paper.” 

Richard made no answer, for just then the sound 
of Belle’s crying came out to them. The windows of 
the cottage were all open and the grass plot between 


A Hard Promise 137 

the windows and the swing being a narrow one the 
closed door was of little avail. It was very still 
there in the shady dooryard, so still that they could 
hear old Yellownose purr, asleep on the cushion in 
the wooden arm-chair beside the swing. The broken 
sentences between the sobs were plainly audible. It 
seemed so terrible to hear a grown person cry, that 
Georgina felt as she did that morning long ago, when 
old Jeremy’s teeth flew into the fire. Her confidence 
was shaken in the world. She felt there could be 
no abiding happiness in anything. 

“She’s begging him not to tell,” whispered Rich- 
ard. 

“But I owe it to Danny,” they heard Uncle Darcy 
say. And then, “Why should I spare Emmett’s 
father? Emmett never spared me, he never spared 
Danny.” 

An indistinct murmur as if Belle’s answer was 
muffled in her handkerchief, then Uncle Darcy’s 
voice again : 

“It isn’t fair that the town should go on counting 
him a hero and brand my boy as a coward, when it’s 
Emmett who was the coward as well as the thief.” 

Again Belle’s voice in a quick cry of pain, as sharp 
as if she had been struck. Then the sound of an- 
other door shutting, and when the voices began again 
it was evident they had withdrawn into the kitchen. 

“They don’t want Aunt Elspeth to hear,” said 
Georgina. 


138 Georgina of the Rainbows 

‘‘What’s it all about?” asked Richard, much mys- 
tified. 

Georgina told him all that she knew herself, gath- 
ered from the scraps she had heard the day of Cousin 
Mehitable’s visit, and from various sources since;, 
told him in a half whisper stopping now and then 
when some fragment of a sentence floated out to them 
from the kitchen; for occasional words still contin- 
ued to reach them through the windows in the rear, 
when the voices rose at intervals to a higher pitch. 

What passed behind those closed doors the chil- 
dren never knew. They felt rather than understood 
what was happening. Belle’s pleading was begin- 
ning to be effectual, and the old man was rising to 
the same heights of self-sacrifice which Dan had 
reached, when he slipped away from home with the 
taint of his friend’s disgrace upon him in order to 
save that friend. 

That some soul tragedy had been enacted in that 
little room the children felt vaguely when Belle came 
out after a while. Her eyes were red and swollen 
and her face drawn and pinched looking. She did 
not glance in their direction, but stood with her face 
averted and hand on the gate-latch while Uncle 
Darcy stopped beside the swing. 

“Children,” he said solemnly, “I want you to 
promise me never to speak to anyone about finding 
that note in the old rifle till I give you permission. 


A Hard Promise 


139 

Will you do this for me, just because I ask it, even if 
I can’t tell you why?” 

“Mustn’t I even tell Barby?” asked Georgina, 
xnxiously. 

He hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Belle, then 
answered: 

“No, not even your mother, till I tell you that you 
can. Now you see what a very important secret it is. 
Can you keep it, son? Will you promise me too?” 

He turned to Richard with the question. With a 
finger under the boy’s chin he tipped up his face and 
looked into it searchingly. The serious, brown eyes 
looked back into his, honest and unflinching. 

“Yes, I promise,” he answered. “Honor bright 
I’ll not tell.” 

The old man turned to the waiting figure at the 
gate. 

“It’s all right, Belle. You needn’t worry about it 
any more. You can trust us.” 

She made no answer, but looking as if she had 
aged years in the last half hour, she passed through 
the gate and into the sandy court, moving slowly 
across it towards the street beyond. 

With a long-drawn sigh the old man sank down 
on the door-step and buried his face in his hands. 
They were still shaking as if he had the palsy. For 
some time the children sat in embarrassed silence, 
thinking every moment that he would look up and say 
something. They wanted to go, but waited for him 


140 Georgina of the Rainbows 

to make some movement. He seemed to have for- 
gotten they were there. Finally a clock inside the 
cottage began striking five. It broke the spell which 
bound them. 

“Let’s go,” whispered Richard. 

“All right,” was the answer, also whispered. 
“Wait till I take the shovel and can lid back to the 
kitchen.” 

“I’ll take ’em,” he offered. “I want to get a drink, 
anyhow.” 

Stealthily, as if playing Indian, they stepped out 
of the swing and tiptoed through the grass around 
the corner of the house. Even the dog went noise- 
lessly, instead of frisking and barking as he usually 
did when starting anywhere. Their return was 
equally stealthy. As they slipped through the gate 
Georgina looked back at the old man. He was still 
sitting on the step, his face in his hands, as if he were 
bowed down by some weight too heavy for his shoul- 
ders to bear. 

The weary hopelessness of his attitude made her 
want to run back and throw her arms around his 
neck, but she did not dare. Trouble as great as that 
seemed to raise a wall around itself. It could not be 
comforted by a caress. The only thing to do was to 
slip past and not look. 

Richard shared the same awe, for he went away 
leaving the rifle lying in the grass. Instinctively he 
felt that it ought not to be played with now. It was 
the rifle which had changed everything. 


CHAPTER XIII 


LOST AND FOUND AT THE LINIMENT WAGON 

TI7HTH Mrs. Triplett back in bed again on ac« 
* * count of the rheumatism which crippled her, 
and Belle going about white of face and sick of soul, 
home held little cheer for Georgina. But with Mrs. 
Triplett averse to company of any kind, and Belle 
anxious to be alone with her misery, there was noth- 
ing to hinder Georgina from seeking cheer elsewhere 
and she sought it early and late. 

She had spent her birthday dollar in imagination 
many times before she took her check to the bank to 
have it cashed. With Richard to lend her courage, 
and Manuel, Joseph and Rosa trailing after by spe- 
cial invitation, she walked in and asked for Mr. 
Gates. That is the way Barby always did, and as far 
as Georgina knew he was the only one to apply to 
for money. 

The paying teller hesitated a moment about sum« 
moning the president of the bank from his private 
office at the behest of so small a child, so small that 
even on tiptoe her eyes could barely peer into the 
window of his cage. But they were entreating eyes, 
so big and brown and sure of their appeal that he de- 
cided to do their bidding. 


142 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Just as he turned to knock at the door behind him 
it opened, and Mr. Gates came out with the man 
with whom he had been closeted in private confer- 
ence. It was Richard’s Cousin James. The children 
did not see him, however, for he stopped at one of 
the high desks inside to look at some papers which 
one of the clerks spread out before him. 

“Oh, it’s my little friend, Georgina,” said Mr. 
Gates, smiling in response to the beaming smile she 
gave him. “Well, what can I do for you, my dear?” 

“Cash my check, please,” she said, pushing the 
slip of paper towards him with as grand an air as if 
it had been for a million dollars instead of one, “and 
all in nickels, please.” 

He glanced at the name she had written painstak- 
ingly across the back. 

“Well, Miss Huntingdon,” he exclaimed gravely, 
although there was a twinkle in his eyes, “if all lady 
customers were as businesslike in endorsing their 
checks and in knowing what they want, we bankers 
would be spared a lot of trouble.” 

It was the first time that Georgina had ever been 
called Miss Huntingdon, and knowing he said it to 
tease her, it embarrassed her to the point of making 
her stammer, when he asked her most unexpectedly 
while picking out twenty shining new nickels to stuff 
into the little red purse : 

“All of these going to buy tracts for the mission- 
aries to take to the little heathen?” 


Lost and Found at the Liniment Wagon 143 

“No, they’re all going to — to ” 

She didn’t like to say for soda water and chew- 
ing gum and the movies, and hesitated till a substi- 
tute word occurred to her. 

“They’re all going to go for buying good times. 
It’s for a sort of a club we made up this morning, 
Richard and me.” 

“May I ask the name of the club?” 

Georgina glanced around. No other customer 
happened to be in the bank at the moment and Rich- 
ard had wandered out to the street to wait for her. 
So tiptoeing a little higher she said in a low tone as 
if imparting a secret : 

“It’s the Rainbow Club. We pretend that every- 
time we make anybody happy we’ve made a little 
rainbow in the world.” 

“Well, bless your heart,” was the appreciative 
answer. “You’ve already made one in here. You 
do that every time you come around.” 

Then he looked thoughtfully at her over his spec- 
tacles. 

“Would you take an old fellow like me into your 
club?” 

Georgina considered a moment, first stealing a 
glance at him to see if he were in earnest or still try- 
ing to tease. He seemed quite serious so she an- 
swered : 

“If you really want to belong. Anybody with a 
bank full of money ought to be able to make happy 
times for the whole town.” 


144 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Any dues to pay? What are the rules and what 
are the duties of a member?” 

Again Georgina was embarrassed. He seemed to 
expect so much more than she had to offer. She 
swung the red purse around nervously as she an- 
swered: 

“I guess you won’t think it’s much of a club. 
There’s nothing to it but just its name, and all we do 
is just to go around making what it says.” 

“Count me as Member number Three,” said Mr. 
Gates gravely. “I’m proud to join you. Shake hands 
on it. I’ll try to be a credit to the organization, and 
I hope you’ll drop around once in a while and let 
me know how it’s getting along.” 

The beaming smile with which Georgina shook 
hands came back to him all morning at intervals. 

Cousin James Milford, who had been an interested 
listener, followed her out of the bank presently and 
as he drove his machine slowly past the drug-store 
he saw the five children draining their glasses at the 
soda-water fountain. He stopped, thinking to in- 
vite Richard and Georgina to go to Truro with him. 
It never would have occurred to him to give the three 
~ little Portuguese children a ride also had he not 
overheard that conversation in the bank. 

“Well, why not?” he asked himself, smiling in- 
wardly. “It might as well be rainbows for the crowd 
while I’m about it.” 

So for the first time in their lives Manuel and 


Lost and Found at the Liniment Wagon 145 

Joseph and Rosa rode in one of the “honk wagons” 
which heretofore they had known only as something 
to be dodged when one walked abroad. Judging 
by the blissful grins which took permanent lodging 
on their dirty faces, Cousin James was eligible to 
the highest position the new club could bestow, if 
ever he should apply for membership. 

If Mrs. Triplett had been downstairs that even- 
ing, none of the birthday nickels would have found 
their way through the ticket window of the moving 
picture show. She supposed that Georgina was 
reading as usual beside the evening lamp, or was 
out on the front porch talking to Belle. But Belle, 
not caring to talk to anyone, had given instant con- 
sent when Georgina, who wanted to go to the show, 
having seen wonderful posters advertising it, sug- 
gested that Mrs. Fayal would take her in charge. 
She did not add that she had already seen Mrs. Fayal 
and promised to provide tickets for her and the 
children in case she could get permission from home. 
Belle did not seem interested in hearing such things, 
so Georgina hurried off lest something might hap- 
pen to interfere before she was beyond the reach of 
summoning voices. 

On the return from Truro she had asked to be 
put out at the Fayal cottage, having it in mind to 
make some such arrangement. Manuel had seen one 
show, but Joseph and Rosa had never so much as 
had their heads inside of one. She found Mrs. 


146 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Fayal glooming over a wash-tub, not because she 
objected to washing for the summer people. She 
was used to that, having done it six days out of 
seven every summer since she had married Joe 
Fayal. What she was glooming over was that Joe 
was home from a week’s fishing trip with his share 
of the money for the biggest catch of the season, and 
not a dime of it had she seen. It had all gone into 
the pocket of an itinerant vendor, and Joe was 
lying in a sodden stupor out under the grape arbor 
at the side of the cottage. 

Georgina started to back away when she found the 
state of affairs. She did not suppose Mrs. Fayal 
would have a mind for merry-making under the cir- 
cumstances. But, indeed, Mrs. Fayal did. 

“All the more reason that I should go off and for- 
get my troubles and have a good time for a while,” 
she said decidedly. Georgina recognized the spirit 
if not the words of her own “line to live by.” Mrs. 
Fayal could bear up and steer onward wdth a joyful 
heart any time she had the price of admission to a 
movie in her pocket. So feeling that as a member 
of the new club she could not have a better oppor- 
tunity to make good its name, Georgina promised 
the tickets for the family even if she could not go 
herself. She would send them by Richard if not 
allowed to take them in person. 

It was still light when Georgina fared forth at the 
end of the long summer day. Richard joined her 


Lost and Found at the Liniment Wagon 147 

at the foot of the Green Stairs with the price of his 
own ticket in his pocket, and Captain Kidd tagging 
at his heels. 

“They won’t let the dog into the show,” Georgina 
reminded him. 

“That’s so, and he might get into a fight or run 
over if I left him outside,” Richard answered. 
“B’leeve I’ll shut him up in the garage.” 

This he did, fastening the door securely, and re- 
turning in time to see the rest of the party turning 
the corner, and coming towards the Green Stairs. 

Mrs. Fayal, after her long day over the wash- 
tub, was resplendent in lavender shirt-waist, blue 
serge skirt and white tennis shoes, with long gold 
ear-rings dangling half-way to her shoulders. Man- 
uel and Joseph were barefooted as usual, and in over- 
alls as usual, but their lack of gala attire was made 
up for by Rosa’s. No wax doll was ever more 
daintily and lacily dressed. Georgina looked at her 
in surprise, wishing Tippy could see her now. Rosa 
in her white dress and slippers and with her face 
clean, was a little beauty. 

Mrs. Fayal made a delightful chaperon. She 
was just as ready as anyone in her train to stop in 
front of shop windows, to straggle slowly down the 
middle of the street, or to thrust her hand into Rich- 
ard’s bag of peanuts whenever he passed it around. 
Cracking shells and munching the nuts, they strolled 
along with a sense of freedom which thrilled Geor- 


148 Georgina of the Rainbows 

gina to the core. She had never felt it before. She 
had just bought five tickets and Richard his one. and 
they were about to pass in although Mrs. Fayal said 
it was early yet, when a deep voice roaring through 
the crowd attracted their attention. It was as sonor- 
ous as a megaphone. 

“Walk up, ladies and gentlemen. See the wild- 
cat, Texas Tim , brought from the banks of the 
Brazos.” 

“Let’s go,” said Richard and Georgina in the 
same breath. Mrs. Fayal, out for a good time and 
to see all that was to be seen, bobbed her long ear- 
rings in gracious assent, and headed the procession, 
in order that her ample form might make an enter- 
ing wedge for the others, as she elbowed her way 
through the crowd gathered at the street end of 
Railroad wharf. 

It clustered thickest around a wagon in which 
stood a broad-shouldered man, mounted on a chair. 
Fie wore a cow-boy hat. A flaming torch set up be- 
side the wagon lighted a cage in one end of it, in 
which crouched a wild-cat bewildered by the light 
and the bedlam of noisy, pushing human beings. The 
children could not see the animal at first, but pushed 
nearer the wagon to hear what the man was saying. 
He held up a bottle and shook it over the heads of 
the people. 

<c Here’s your marvelous rheumatism remedy,” he 
cried, “made from the fat of wild-cats. Warranted 


Lost and Found at the Liniment Wagon 149 

to cure every kind of ache, sprain and misery known 
to man. Only fifty cents, ladies and gentlemen, sure 
cure or your money back. Anybody here with an 
ache or a pain?” 

The children pushed closer. Richard, feeling the 
effect of the gun-powder he had eaten, turned to 
Georgina. 

“I dare you to climb up and touch the end of the 
wild-cat’s tail.” 

Georgina stood on tiptoe, then dodged under 
someone’s elbow for a nearer view. The end of 
the tail protruded from between the bars of the cage, 
in easy reach if one were on the wagon, but those fur- 
tive eyes keeping watch above it were savage in 
their gleaming. Then she, too, remembered the gun- 
powder. 

“I’ll do it if you will.” 

Before Richard could put the gun-powder to the 
test the man reached down for a guitar leaning 
against his chair, and with a twanging of chords 
which made the shifting people on the outskirts stand 
still to see what would happen next, he began to sing 
a song that had been popular in his youth. Or, 
rather, it was a parody of the song. Georgina recog- 
nized it as one that she had heard Uncle Darcy 
sing, and even Tippy hummed it sometimes when 
she was sewing. It was, “When you and I were 
young, Maggie.” 


150 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“They say we are aged and gray, Maggie, 

As spray by the white breakers flung, 

But the liniment keeps us as spry, Maggie, 

As when you and I were young! } 

Several people laughed and passed on when the 
song was done, but the greater part of the crowd 
stayed, hoping to hear another, for the voice was a 
powerful one and fairly sweet. 

“Anybody here with any aches or pains ?” he called 
again. “If so, step this way, please, and let me make 
a simple demonstration of how quickly this magic 
oil will cure you.” 

There was a commotion near the wagon, and a 
man pushed his way through and climbed up on the 
wheel. He offered a stiff wrist for treatment. The 
vendor tipped up the bottle and poured out some 
pungent volatile oil from the bottle, the odor of 
which was far-reaching. He rubbed the wrist briskly 
for a moment, then gave it a slap saying, “Now see 
what you can do with it, my friend.” 

The patient scowled at it, twisting his arm in every 
possible direction as if skeptical of any help from 
such a source, but gradually letting a look of pleased 
surprise spread across his face. The crowd watched 
in amusement, and nearly everybody laughed when 
the patient finally announced in a loud voice that he 
was cured, that it was nothing short of a miracle 


Lost and Found at the Liniment Wagon 15 1 

and that he’d buy half a dozen bottles of that witch 
stuff to take home to his friends. 

The vendor began his speech-making again, call- 
ing attention to the cure they had just witnessed, and 
urging others to follow. As the subject of the cure 
stepped down from the wheel Richard sprang up 
in his place. Georgina, pressing closer, saw him 
lean over the side of the wagon and boldly take hold 
of the end of the beast’s tail. 

“There. I did it,” he announced. “Now it’s your 
turn.” 

Georgina gave one glance at the wild-cat’s eyes 
and drew back. They seemed to glare directly at 
her. She wondered how strong the bars were, and 
if they would hold the beast in case it rose up in a 
rage and sprang at her. But Richard was waiting, 
and she clambered up on the hub of the wheel. Luck- 
ily its owner was turned towards the other side at 
that moment or she might have been ordered down. 

“There ! I did it, too,” she announced an instant 
later. “Now you can’t crow over me.” 

She was about to step down when she saw in the 
other end of the wagon, something she had not 
been able to see from her place on the ground under 
the elbows of the crowd. In a low rocking chair sat 
an elderly woman, oddly out of place in this travel- 
ing medicine show as far as appearance was con- 
cerned. She had a calm, motherly face, gray hair 
combed smoothly down over her ears, a plain old- 


152 Georgina of the Rainbows 

fashioned gray dress and an air of being perfectly at 
home. It was the serene, unconscious manner one 
would have in sitting on the door-step at home. She 
did not seem to belong in the midst of this seething 
| curious mass, or to realize that she was a part of the 
show. She smiled now at Georgina in such a friendly 
way that Georgina smiled back and continued to 
stand on the wheel. She hoped that this nice old 
lady would say something about the virtues of the 
medicine, for it cured two more people, even while 
she looked, and if she could be sure it did all that 
was claimed for it she would spend all the rest of 
her birthday money in buying a bottle for Tippy. 

The placid old lady said nothing, but her reas- 
suring presence finally made Georgina decide to buy 
the bottle, and she emptied the red purse of every- 
thing except the tickets. Then the man embarrassed 
her until her cheeks flamed. 

“That’s right, little girl. Carry it to the dear 
sufferer at home who will bless you for your kind- 
ness. Anybody else here who will imitate this child’s 
generous act? If you haven’t any pain yourself, 
show your gratitude by thinking of someone less 
fortunate than you.” 

Georgina felt that her blushes were burning her 
up at thus being made the centre of public notice. 
She almost fell off the wheel in her haste to get down, 
and in doing so stumbled over a dog which suddenly 
emerged from under the wagon at that instant. 


Lost and Found at the Liniment Wagon 153 

“Why, it’s Captain Kidd!” she exclaimed in as- 
tonishment. “How ever did he get here?” 

“Must have scratched under the door and trailed 
us,” answered Richard. “Go on home, sir !” he com- 
manded, sternly, stamping his foot. “You know they 
"won’t let you into the show with us, and you’ll get 
into trouble if you stay downtown alone. Go on 
home I say.” 

With drooping tail and a look so reproachful that 
it was fairly human, Captain Kidd slunk away, start- 
ing mournfully homeward. He sneaked back in a 
few minutes, however, and trailed his party as far 
as the door of the theatre. Somebody kicked at him 
and he fled down the street again, retracing the trail 
that had led him to the wagon. 

A long time after when the performance was 
nearly over he went swinging up the beach with 
something in his mouth which he had picked up from 
near the end of the wagon. It was a tobacco pouch 
of soft gray leather that had never been used for 
tobacco. There was something hard and round in- 
side which felt like a bone. At the top of the Green 
Stairs he lay down and mouthed it a while, tugging 
<at it with his sharp teeth ; but after he had mumbled 
and gnawed it for some time without bringing the 
bone any nearer the surface, he grew tired of his 
newfound plaything. Dropping it in the grass, 
he betook himself to the door-mat on the front 
porch, to await his master’s return. 


CHAPTER XIV 


BURIED TREASURE 


\X7TIEN Georgina tiptoed up the walk to the 
* * front porch where Belle sat waiting for her 
in the moonlight, Tippy called down that she wasn’t 
asleep, and they needn’t stay out there on her ac- 
count, whispering. It did not seem an auspicious 
time to present the bottle of liniment, but to Geor- 
gina’s surprise Tippy seemed glad to try the new 
remedy. The long-continued pain which refused to 
yield to treatment made her willing to try anything 
which promised relief. 

It was vile-smelling stuff, so pungent that when- 
ever the cork was taken out of the bottle the whole 
house knew it, but it burned with soothing fire and 
Tippy rose up and called it blessed before the next 
day was over. Before that happened, however, 
Georgina took advantage of Belle’s easy rule to 
leave home as soon as her little morning tasks were 
done. Strolling down the board-walk with many 
stops she came at last to the foot of the Green 
Stairs. Richard sat on the top step, tugging at a 
knotted string. 


154 


Buried Treasure 


1 55 

“Come on up,” he called. “See what I’ve taken 
away from Captain Kidd. He was just starting to 
bury it. Looks like a tobacco pouch, but I haven’t 
got it untied yet. He made the string all wet, gnaw= 
ing on it.” 

Georgina climbed to the top of the steps and sat 
down beside him, watching in deep and silent interest. 
When the string finally gave way she offered her lap 
to receive the contents of the pouch. Two five-dollar 
gold pieces rolled out first, then a handful of small 
change, a black ring evidently whittled out of a rub- 
ber button and lastly a watch-fob ornament. It was 
a little compass, set in something which looked like 
a nut. 

“I believe that’s a buckeye,” said Richard. He 
examined it carefully on all sides, then called ex- 
citedly : 

“Aw, look here! See those letters scratched on 
the side — ‘D. D.’ ? That stands for my name, Dare- 
devil Dick. I’m going to keep it.” 

“That’s the cunningest thing I ever saw,” declared 
Georgina in a tone both admiring and envious, which 
plainly showed that she wished the initials were such 
as could be claimed by a Gory George. Then she 
picked up the pouch and thrust in her hand. Some- 
thing rustled. It was a letter. Evidently it had 
been forwarded many times, for the envelope was 
entirely criss-crossed with names that had been writ' 
ten and blotted out that new ones might be added. 


156 Georgina of the Rainbows 

All they could make out was “Mrs. Henry”— 
“Texas” and “Mass.” 

“I’d like to have that stamp for my album,” said 
Richard. “It’s foreign. Seems to me I’ve got one 
that looks something like it, but I’m not sure. Maybe 
the letter will tell who the pouch belongs to.” 

“But we can’t read other people’s letters,” ob- 
jected Georgina. 

“Well, who wants to? It won’t be reading it just 
to look at the head and tail, will it?” 

“No,” admitted Georgina, hesitatingly. “Though 
it does seem like peeking.” 

“Well, if you lost something wouldn’t you rather 
whoever found it should peek and find out it was 
yours, than to have it stay lost forever?” 

“Yes, I s’pose so.” 

“Let’s look, then.” 

Two heads bent over the sheet spread out on 
Richard’s knee. They read slowly in unison, “Dear 
friend,” then turned over the paper and sought the 
last line. “Your grateful friend Dave.” 

“We don’t know any more now than we did be- 
fore,” said Georgina, virtuously folding up the letter 
and slipping it back into the envelope. 

“Let’s take it to Uncle Darcy. Then he’ll let us 
go along and ring the bell when he calls, ‘Found.’ ” 

Richard had two objections to this. “Who’d pay 
him for doing it? Besides, it’s gold money, and any- 
body who loses that much would advertise for it in 


Buried Treasure 157 

the papers. Let’s keep it till this week’s papers come 
out, and then we’ll have the fun of taking it to the 
person who lost it.” 

“It wouldn’t be safe for us to keep it,” was Geor- 
gina’s next objection. “It’s gold money and burglars 
might find out we had it.” 

“Then I’ll tell you” Richard’s face shone as 

he made the suggestion — “Let’s bury it. That will 
keep it safe till we can find the owner, and when we 
dig it up we can play it’s pirate gold and it’ll be like 
finding real treasure.” 

“Lets!” agreed Georgina. “We can keep out 
something, a nickel or a dime, and when we go to dig 
up the pouch we can throw it over toward the place 
where we buried the bag and say, ‘Brother, go find 
your brother,’ the way Tom Sawyer did. Then we’ll 
be certain to hit the spot.” 

Richard picked up the compass, and rubbed the 
polished sides of the nut in which it was set. 

“I’ll keep this out instead of a nickel. I wonder 
what the fellow’s name was that this D. D. stands 
for?” 

Half an hour later two bloody-minded sea-robbers 
slipped through the back gate of the Milford place 
and took their stealthy way out into the dunes. No 
fierce mustachios or hoop ear-rings marked them on 
this occasion as the Dread Destroyer or the Menace 
of the Main. The time did not seem favorable for 
donning their real costumes. So one went disguised 


158 Georgina of the Rainbows 

as a dainty maiden in a short pink frock and long 
brown curls, and the other as a sturdy boy in a grass- 
stained linen suit with a hole in the knee of his stock- 
ing. But their speech would have betrayed their evil 
business had anyone been in earshot of it. One 
would have thought it was 

“ Wild Roger come again . 

He spoke of forays and of frays upon the Spanish 
Main” 

Having real gold to bury made the whole affair 
seem a real adventure. They were recounting to 
each other as they dug, the bloody fight it had taken 
to secure this lot of treasure. 

Down in a hollow where the surrounding sand- 
ridges sheltered them from view, they crouched over 
a small basket they had brought with them and per- 
formed certain ceremonies. First the pouch was 
wrapped in many sheets of tin foil, which Richard 
had been long in collecting from various tobacco- 
loving friends. When that was done it flashed in the 
sun like a nugget of wrinkled silver. This was 
stuffed into a baking-powder can from which the label 
had been carefully scraped, and on whose lid had 
been scratched with a nail, the names Georgina Hunt- 
ingdon and Richard Moreland, with the date. 

“We’d better put our everyday names on it in- 
stead of our pirate names,” Gory George suggested. 


Buried Treasure 


159 

“For if anything should happen that some other 
pirate dug it up first they wouldn’t know who the 
Dread Destroyer and the Menace of the Main 
were.” 

Lastly, from the basket was taken the end of a 
wax candle, several matches and a stick of red seal- 
ing-wax, borrowed from Cousin James’ desk. 
Holding the end of the sealing-wax over the lighted 
candle until it was soft and dripping, Richard daubed 
it around the edge of the can lid, as he had seen the 
man in the express office seal packages. He had 
always longed to try it himself. There was some- 
thing peculiarly pleasing in the smell of melted seal- 
ing-wax. Georgina found it equally alluring. She 
took the stick away from him when it was about half 
used, and finished it. 

“There won’t be any to put back in Cousin James’ 
desk if you keep on using it,” he warned her. 

“Tm not using any more than you did,” she an- 
swered, and calmly proceeded to smear on the re- 
mainder. “If you had let me seal with the first end 
of the stick, you’d have had all the last end to save.” 

All this time Captain Kidd sat close beside them, 
an interested spectator, but as they began digging 
the hole he rushed towards it and pawed violently 
at each shovelful of sand thrown out. 

“Aw, let him help !” Richard exclaimed when 
Georgina ordered him to stop. “He ought to have 
a part in it because he found the pouch and was start- 


160 Georgina of the Rainbows 

ing to bury it his own self when I took it away from 
him and spoiled his fun.” 

Georgina saw the justice of the claim and allowed 
Captain Kidd to join in as he pleased, but no sooner 
did they stop digging to give him a chance than he 
stopped also. 

“Rats !” called Richard in a shrill whisper. 

At that familiar word the dog began digging so 
frantically that the sand flew in every direction. 
Each time he paused for breath Richard called 
“Rats” again. It doubled the interest for both chil- 
dren to have the dog take such frantic and earnest 
part in their game. 

When the hole was pronounced deep enough the 
can was dropped in, the sand shoveled over it and 
tramped down, and a marker made. A long, forked 
stick, broken from a bayberry bush, was run into the 
ground so that only the fork of it was visible. Then 
at twenty paces from the stick, Richard stepping them 
off in four directions, consulting the little compass 
in so doing, Georgina placed the markers, four sec- 
tions of a broken crock rescued from the ash-barrel 
and brought down in the basket for that especial 
purpose. 

“We’ll let it stay buried for a week,” said Richard 
when all was done. “Unless somebody claims it 
sooner. If they don’t come in a week, then we’ll 
know they’re never coming, and the gold will be 
ours.” 


CHAPTER XV 


A NARROW ESCAPE 

1V/T R. MILFORD was stretched out in a hammock 
^ on the front porch of the bungalow when the 
children came back from the dunes with their empty 
basket. They could not see him as they climbed up 
the terrace, the porch being high above them and 
draped with vines ; and he deep in a new book was 
only vaguely conscious of approaching voices. 

They were discussing the “Rescues of Rosalind,” 
the play they had seen the night before on the films. 
Their shrill, eager tones would have attracted the 
attention of anyone less absorbed than Mr. Mil- 
ford. 

“I’ll bet you couldn’t,” Georgina was sayKg. “If 
you were gagged and bound the way Rosalind was, 
you couldn’t get loose, no matter how you squirmed 
and twisted.” 

“Come back in the garage and try me,” Richard 
retorted. “I’ll prove it to you that I can.” 

“Always an automobile dashes up and there’s a 
chase. It’s been that way in every movie I ever 
saw,” announced Georgina with the air of one who 
has attended nightly through many seasons. 

“I can do that part all right,” declared Richard 
“I can run an automobile.” 

161 


162 Georgina of the Rainbows 

There was no disputing that fact, no matter how 
contradictory Georgina’s frame of mind. Only the 
day before she had seen him take the wheel and run 
the car for three miles under the direction of Cousin 
James, when they came to a level stretch of road. 

“Yes, but you know your Cousin James said you 
were never to do it unless he was along himself. You 
wasn’t to dare to touch it when you were out with 
only the chauffeur.” 

“He wouldn’t care if we got in and didn’t start 
anything but the engine,” said Richard. “Climb in 
and play that I’m running away with you. With 
the motor chugging away and shaking the machine 
it’ll seem as if we’re really going.” 

By this time they were inside the garage, with the 
doors closed behind them. 

“Now you get in and keep looking back the way 
Rosalind did to see how near they are to catching 
us.” 

Instantly Georgina threw herself into the spirit 
of the game. Climbing into the back seat she as- 
sumed the pose of the kidnapped bride whose adven- 
tures had thrilled them the night before. 

“Play my white veil is floating out in the wind,” 
she commanded, “and I’m looking back and waving 
to my husband to come faster and take me away from 
the dreadful villain who is going to kill me for my 
jewels. I wish this car was out of doors instead of 


A Narrow Escape 163 

in this dark garage. When I look back I look bang 
against the closed door every time, and I can’t make 
it seem as if I was seeing far down the road.” 

“Play it’s night,” suggested Richard. He had put 
on a pair of goggles and was making a grefet pre- 
tence of getting ready to start. Georgina, leaning 
out as Rosalind had done, waved her lily hand in 
frantic beckonings for her rescuers to follow faster. 
The motor chugged harder and harder. The car 
shook violently. 

To the vivid imaginations of the passengers, the 
chase was as exciting as if the automobile were really 
plunging down the road instead of throbbing steadily 
in one spot in the dim garage. The gas rolling up 
from somewhere in the back made it wonderfully 
realistic. But out on the open road the smell of 
burning gasoline would not have been so overpower- 
ing. Inside the little box-like garage it began to 
close in on them and settle down like a dense fog. 

Georgina coughed and Richard looked back ap- 
prehensively, feeling that something was wrong, and 
if that queer smoke didn’t stop pouring out in such 
a thick cloud he’d have to shut off the engine or do 
something. Another moment passed and he leaned 
forward, fumbling for the key, but he couldn’t find 
it. He had grown queerly confused and light- 
headed. He couldn’t make his fingers move where 
he wanted them to go. 


164 Georgina of the Rainbows 

He looked back at Georgina. She wasn’t waving 
her hands any more. She was lying limply back on 
the seat as if too tired to play any longer. And a 
thousand miles away — at least it sounded that far — 
above the terrific noise the motor was making, he 
heard Captain Kidd barking. They were short, ex- 
cited barks, so thin and queer, almost as thin and 
queer as if he were barking with the voice of a 
mosquito instead of his own. 

And then — Richard heard nothing more, not even 
the noise of the motor. His hand dropped from the 
wheel, and he began slipping down, down from the 
seat to the floor of the car, white and limp, over- 
come like Georgina, by the fumes of the poisonous 
gas rolling up from the carburetor. 

Mr. Milford, up in the hammock, had been 
vaguely conscious for several minutes of unusual 
sounds somewhere in the neighborhood, but it was 
not until he reached the end of the chapter that he 
took any intelligent notice. Then he looked up think- 
ing somebody’s machine was making a terrible fuss 
somewhere near. But it wasn’t that sound which 
made him sit up in the hammock. It was Captain 
Kidd’s frantic barking and yelping and whining as if 
something terrible was happening to him. 

Standing up to stretch himself, then walking to the 
corner of the porch, Mr. Milford looked out. He 
rould see the little terrier alternately scratching on 
the garage door and making frantic efforts to dig 


A Narrow Escape 165 

under it. Evidently he felt left out and was trying 
desperately to join his little playmates, or else he felt 
that something was wrong inside. 

Then it came to Mr. Milford in a flash that some- 
thing was wrong inside. Nobody ever touched that 
machine but himself and the chauffeur, and the 
chauffeur, who was having a day off, was half-way to 
Yarmouth by this time. He didn’t wait to go down 
by the steps. With one leap he was over the railing, 
crashing through the vines, and running down the 
terrace to the garage. 

As he rolled back one of the sliding doors a suffo- 
cating burst of gas rushed into his face. He pushed 
both doors open wide, and with a hand over his 
mouth and nose hurried through the heavily-charged 
atmosphere to shut off the motor. The fresh air 
rushing in, began clearing away the fumes, and he 
seized Georgina and carried her out, thinking she 
would be revived by the time he was back with Rich- 
ard. But neither child stirred from the grass where 
he stretched them out. 

As he called for the cook and the housekeeper, 
there flashed into his mind an account he had read 
recently in a New York paper, of a man and his wif( 
who had been asphyxiated in just such a way as this. 
Now thoroughly alarmed, he sent the cook running 
down the Green Stairs to summon Richard’s father 
from the studio, and the housekeeper to telephone in 
various directions. Three doctors were there in a 


i66 Georgina of the Rainbows 

miraculously short time, but despite all they could do 
at the end of half an hour both little figures still lay 
white and motionless. 

Then the pulmotor that had been frantically tele- 
phoned for arrived from the life-saving station, and 
just as the man dashed up with that, Mrs. Triplett 
staggered up the terrace, her knees shaking so that 
she could scarcely manage to climb the last few 
steps. 

Afterwards, the happenings of the day were very 
hazy in Georgina’s mind. She had an indistinct 
recollection of being lifted in somebody’s arms and 
moved about, and of feeling very sick and weak. 
Somebody said soothingly to somebody who was cry- 
ing: 

“Oh, the worst is over now. They’re both begin- 
ning to come around.” 

Then she was in her own bed and the wild-cat from 
the banks of the Brazos was bending over her. At 
least, she thought it was the wild-cat, because she 
smelled the liniment as strongly as she did when 
she climbed up in the wagon beside it. But when she 
opened her eyes it was Tippy who was bending over 
her, smoothing her curls in a comforting, purry way, 
but the smell of liniment still hung in the air. 

Then Georgina remembered something that must 
have happened before she was carried home from 
the bungalow. — Captain Kidd squirming out of Tip- 
py’s arms, and Tippy with the tears streaming down 


A Narrow Escape 167 

her face trying to hold him and hug him as if he had 
been a person, and the Milford’s cook saying: “If 
it hadn’t been for the little beast’s barkin’ they’d have 
been dead in a few minutes more. Then there’d 
have been a double funeral, poor lambs.” 

Georgina smiled drowsily now and slipped off : 
to sleep again, but later when she awakened the 
charm of the cook’s phrase aroused her thoroughly, 
and she lay wondering what “a double funeral” was 
like. Would it have been at her house or Richard’s? 
Would two little white coffins have stood side by side, 
or would each have been in its own place, with the 
two solemn processions meeting and joining at the 
foot of the Green Stairs. Maybe they would have 
put on her tombstone, “None knew her but to love 
her.” No, that couldn’t be said about her. She’d 
been wilfully disobedient too often for that, like the 
time she played With the Portuguese children on pur- 
pose to spite Tippy. She was sorry for that dis- 
obedience now, for she had discovered that Tippy 
was fonder of her than she had supposed. She had 
proved it by hugging Captain Kidd so gratefully 
for saving their lives, when she simply loathed dogs. 

Somehow Georgina felt that she was better ac- 
quainted with Mrs. Triplett than she had ever been 
before, and fonder of her. Lying there in the dark 
she made several good resolutions. She was going 
to be a better girl in the future. She was going to do 
kind, lovely things for everybody, so that if an early 


168 Georgina of the Rainbows 

tomb should claim her, every heart in town would be 
saddened by her going. It would be lovely to leave 
a widespread heartache behind her. She wished she 
could live such a life that there wouldn’t be a dry eye 
in the town when it was whispered from house to 
house that little Georgina Huntingdon was with the 
angels. 

She pictured Belle’s grief, and Uncle Darcy’s and 
Richard’s. She had already seen Tippy’s. But it 
was a very different thing when she thought of Barby. 
There was no pleasure in imagining Barby’s grief. 
There was something too real and sharp in the pain 
which darted into her own heart at the thought of 
it. She wanted to put her arms around her mother 
and ward off sorrow and trouble from her and keep 
all tears away from those dear eyes. She wanted to 
grow up and take care of her darling Barby and pro- 
tect her from the Tishbite. 

Suddenly it occurred to Georgina that in this es- 
cape she had been kept from the power of that mys- 
terious evil which had threatened her ever since she 
called it forth by doing such a wicked thing as to 
use the “Sacred Book” to work a charm. 

She had been put to bed in the daytime, hence her 
evening petitions were still unsaid. Now she pulled 
the covers over her head and included them all in one 
fervent appeal : 

“And keep on delivering us from the Tishbite, 
forever and ever, Amen!” 


CHAPTER XVI 


WHAT THE STORM DID 

"^JTEXT morning nearly everyone in the town was 
^ ^ talking about the storm. Belle said what with 
the booming of the waves against the breakwater 
and the wind rattling the shutters, she hadn’t slept a 
wink all night. It seemed as if every gust would 
surely take the house off its foundations. 

Old Jeremy reported that it was one of the worst 
wind-storms ever known along the Cape, wild enough 
to blow all the sand dunes into the sea. They’d had 
the best shaking up and shifting around that they’d 
had in years, he declared. Captain Ames’ cranberry 
bog was buried so deep in sand you couldn’t see a 
blossom or a leaf. And there was sand drifted all 
over the garden. It had whirled clear over the wall, 
till the bird pool was half full of it. 

Georgina listened languidly, feeling very comfort- 
able and important with her breakfast brought in 
to her on a tray. Tippy thought it was too chilly 
for her in the dining-room where there was no fire. 
Jeremy had kindled a cheerful blaze on the living- 
room hearth and his tales of damage done to the 
skipping and to roofs and chimneys about town, 
169 


170 Georgina of the Rainbows 

seemed to emphasize her own safety and comfort. 
The only thing which made the storm seem a personal 
affair was the big limb blown off the willow tree. 

Mrs. Triplett and Jeremy could remember a storm 
years ago which shifted the sand until the whole face- 
- of the Cape seemed changed. That was before the 
Government planted grass all over it, to bind it to- 
gether with firm roots. Later when the ring of an 
axe told that the willow limb was being chopped in 
pieces, Georgina begged to be allowed to go out- 
doors. 

“Let me go out and see the tracks of the storm,” 
she urged. “I feel all right. I’m all over the gas 
now.” 

But Mrs. Triplett preferred to run no risks. All 
she said to Georgina was : 

“No, after such a close call as you had yesterday 
you stay right here where I can keep an eye on you, 
and take it quietly for a day or two,” but when she 
went into the next room Georgina heard her say to 
Belle: 

“There’s no knowing how that gas may have af- 
fected her heart.” 

Georgina made a face at the first speech, but the 
second one made her lie down languidly on the sofa 
with her finger on her pulse. She was half persuaded 
that there was something wrong with the way it beat, 
and was about to ask faintly if she couldn’t have a 
little blackberry cordial with her lunch, when she 


What the Storm Did 171 

heard Richard’s alley call outside and Captain Kidd’s 
quick bark. 

She started up, forgetting all about the cordial and 
her pulse, and was skipping to the front door when 
Tippy hurried in from the dining-room and reached 
it first. She had a piece of an old coffee sack in her 
hand. 

“Here!” she said abruptly to Richard, who was 
so surprised at the sudden opening of the door that 
he nearly fell in against her. 

“You catch that dog and hold him while I wipe his 
feet. I can’t have any dirty quadruped like that, 
tracking up my clean floors.” 

Georgina looked at the performance in amaze- 
ment. Tippy scrubbing away at Captain Kidd’s 
muddy paws till all four of them were clean, and 
then actually letting him come into the house and 
curl up on the hearth! Tippy, who never touched 
dogs except with the end of a broom ! She could 
scarcely believe what her own eyes told her. She and 
Richard must have had a “close call,” indeed, closer 
than either of them realized, to make such a won- 
derful change in Tippy. 

And the change was towards Richard, too. She 
had never seemed to like him much better than his 
dog. She blamed him for taking the cream bottles 
when they played pirate, and she thought it made 
little girls boisterous and rude to play with boys, and 
she wondered at Barby’s letting Georgina play with 


172 Georgina of the Rainbows 

him. Several times she had done her wondering 
out loud, so that Georgina heard her, and wanted 
to say things back — shocking things, such as Rosa 
said to Joseph. But she never said them. There 
was always that old silver porringer, sitting prim and 
lady-like upon the sideboard. 

Things were different to-day. After the dog’s 
paws were wiped dry Tippy asked Richard how he 
felt after the accident, and she asked it as if she really 
cared and wanted to know. And she brought in a 
plate of early summer apples, the first in the market, 
and told him to help himself and put some in his 
pocket. And there was the checker-board if they 
wanted to play checkers or dominoes. Her unusual 
concern for their entertainment impressed Georgina 
more than anything else she could have done with the 
seriousness of the danger they had been in. She felt 
very solemn and important, and thanked Tippy with 
a sweet, patient air, befitting one who has just been 
brought up from the “valley of the shadow.” 

The moment they were alone Richard began 
breathlessly : 

“Say. On the way here I went by that place where 
we buried the pouch, and what do you think? The 
markers are out of sight and the whole place itself 
is buried — just filled up level. What are we going 
to do about it?” 

The seriousness of the situation did not impress 
Georgina until he added, “S’pose the person who lost 


What the Storm Did 


173 

it comes back for it? Maybe we’d be put in prison.” 

“But nobody knows it’s buried except you and me.” 

Richard scuffed one shoe against the other and 
looked into the fire. 

“But Aunt Letty says there’s no getting around 
it, ‘Be sure your sin will find you out,’ always. And 
I’m aw’fully unlucky that way. Seems to me I never 
did anything in my life that I oughtn’t to a done, that 
I didn’t get found out. Aunt Letty has a book that 
she reads to me sometimes when I’m going to bed, 
that proves it. Every story in it proves it. One is 
about a traveler who murdered a man, and kept it 
secret for twenty years. Then he gave it away, talk- 
ing in his sleep. And one was a feather in a boy’s 
coat pocket. It led to its being found out that he was 
a chicken thief. There’s about forty such stories, 
and everyone of them prove your sin is sure to find 
you out some time before you die, even if you cover 
it up for years and years.” 

“But we didn’t do any sin,” protested Georgina. 
“We just buried a pouch that the dog found, to keep 
it safe, and if a big wind came along and covered 
it up so we can’t find it, that isn’t our fault. We 
didn’t make the wind blow, did we?” 

“But there was gold money in that pouch,” in- 
sisted Richard, “and it wasn’t ours, and maybe the 
letter was important and we ought to have turned it 
over to Dad or Uncle Darcy or the police or some- 
body.” 


174 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Aunt Letty’s bedtime efforts to keep Richard’s 
conscience tender were far more effective than she 
had dreamed. He was quoting Aunt Letty now. 

“We wouldn’t want anybody to do our things that 
way.” Then a thought of his own came to him, 
“You wouldn’t want the police coming round and 
taking you off to the lockup, would you? I saw ’em 
take Binney Rogers one time, just because he broke 
a window that he didn’t mean to. He was only shy- 
ing a rock at a sparrow. There was a cop on each 
side of him a hold of his arm, and Binney’s mother 
and sister were following along behind crying and 
begging them not to take him something awful. But 
all they could say didn’t do a speck of good.” 

The picture carried weight. In spite of her light 
tone Georgina was impressed, but she said defiantly: 

“Well, nobody saw us do it.” 

“You don’t know,” was the gloomy answer. 
“Somebody might have been up in the monument 
with a spy glass, looking down. There’s always 
people up there spying around, or out on the masts in 
the harbor, and if some sleuth was put on the trail 
of that pouch the first thing that would happen would 
be he’d come across the very person with the glass. 
It always happens that way, and I know, because 
Binney Rogers has read almost all the detective 
stories there is, and he said so.” 

A feeling of uneasiness began to clutch at Geor- 
gina’s interior. Richard spoke so knowingly and 


What the Storm Did 175 

convincingly that she felt a real need for blackberry 
cordial. But she said with a defiant little uplift of 
her chin : 

“Well, as long as we didn’t mean to do anything 
* wrong, I’m not going to get scared about it. I’m 
just going to bear up and steer right on, and keep 
hoping that everything will turn out all right so hard 
that it will.” 

Her “line to live by” buoyed her up so success- 
fully for the time being, that Richard, too, felt the 
cheerful influence of it, and passed to more cheerful 
subjects. 

“We’re going to be in all the papers,” he an- 
nounced. “A reporter called up from Boston to ask 
Cousin James how it happened. There’s only been 
a few cases like ours in the whole United States. 
Won’t you feel funny to see your name in the paper? 
Captain Kidd will have his name in, too. I heard 
Cousin James say over the telephone that he was 
the hero of the hour; that if he hadn’t given the 
alarm we wouldn’t have been discovered till it was 
too late.” 

Richard did not stay long. The finished portrait 
was to be hung in the Art gallery in the Town Hall 
that morning and he wanted to be on hand at the 
hanging. Later it would be sent to the New York 
exhibition. 

“Daddy’s going to let me go with him when Mr, 
Locke comes for him on his yacht. He’s going to 


176 Georgina of the Rainbows 

take me because I sat still and let him get such a good 
picture. It’s the best he’s ever done. We’ll be 
gone a week.” 

“When are you going?” demanded Georgina. 

“Oh, in a few days, whenever Mr. Locke comes.” 

“I hope we can find that pouch first,” she an- 
swered. Already she was beginning to feel little and 
forlorn and left behind. “It’ll be awful lonesome 
with you and Barby both gone.” 

Tippy came in soon after Richard left and sat 
down at the secretary. 

“I’ve been thinking I ought to write to your 
mother and let her know about yesterday’s perform- 
ance before she has a chance to hear it from outsiders 
or the papers. It’s a whole week to-day since she 
left.” 

“A week,” echoed Georgina. “Is that all? It 
seems a month at least. It’s been so long.” 

Mrs. Triplett tossed her a calendar from the desk. 

“Count it up for yourself,” she said. “She left 
two days before your birthday and this is the Wed- 
nesday after.” 

While Mrs. Triplett began her letter Georgina 
studied the calendar, putting her finger on a date as 
she recalled the various happenings of it. Each day 
had been long and full. That one afternoon when 
she and Richard found the paper in the rifle seemed 
an age in itself. It seemed months since they had 
promised Belle and Uncle Darcy to keep the secret. 


What the Storm Did 177 

She glanced up, about to say so, then bit her 
tongue, startled at having so nearly betrayed the fact 
of their having a secret. Then the thought came to 
her that Emmett’s sin had found him out in as strange 
a way as that of the man who talked in his sleep or 
the chicken thief to whom the feather clung. It was 
one more proof added to the forty in Aunt Letty’s 
book. Richard’s positiveness made a deeper im- 
pression on her than she liked to acknowledge. She 
shut her eyes a moment, squinting them up so tight 
that her eyelids wrinkled, and hoped as hard as she 
could hope that everything would turn out all right. 

“What on earth is the matter with you, child?” 
exclaimed Tippy, looking up from her letter in time 
to catch Georgina with her face thus screwed into 
wrinkles. 

Georgina opened her eyes with a start. 

“Nothing,” was the embarrassed answer. “I waa 
just thinking.” 



CHAPTER XVII 


IN THE KEEPING OF THE DUNES 

CCARCELY had Georgina convinced herself by 
^ the calendar that it had been only one short week 
since Barby went away instead of the endlessly long 
time it seemed, than a letter was brought in to her. 

“My Dear Little Rainbow-maker/’ it began. 

“You are surely a prism your own self, for you 
have made a blessed bright spot in the world for me, 
ever since you came into it. I read your letter to 
papa, telling all about your birthday and the prism 
Uncle Darcy gave you. It cheered him up wonder- 
fully. I was so proud of you when he said it was a 
fine letter, and that he’d have to engage you as a 
special correspondent on his paper some day. 

“At first the doctors thought his sight was entirely 
destroyed, by the flying glass of the broken wind- 
shield, but now they are beginning to hope that one 
eye at least may be saved, and possibly the other. 
Papa is very doubtful about it himself, and gets very 
despondent at times. He had just been having an 
especially blue morning when your letter was brought 
in, and he said, when I read it: 

“ ‘That is a good line to live by, daughter,’ and he 
178 


In the Keeping of the Dunes 179 

had me get out his volume of Milton and read the 
whole sonnet that the line is taken from. The fact 
that Milton was blind when he wrote it made it spe- 
cially interesting to him. 

“He and mamma both need me sorely now for 
a little while, Baby dear, and if you can keep busy and 
happy without me I’ll stay away a couple of weeks 
longer and help take him home to Kentucky, but I 
can’t be contented to stay unless you send me a postal 
every day. If nothing more is on it than your name, 
written by your own little fingers, it will put a rain- 
bow around my troubles and help me to be contented 
away from you.” 

Georgina spent the rest of the morning answering 
it. She had a feeling that she must make up for her 
father's neglect as a correspondent, by writing oftec? 
herself. Maybe the family at Grandfather Shir- 
ley’s wouldn’t notice that there was never any letter 
with a Chinese stamp on it, addressed in a man’s big 
hand in Barby’s pile of mail, if there were others for 
her to smile over. 

It had been four months since the last one came. 
Georgina had kept careful count, although she had 
not betrayed her interest except in the wistful way 
she watched Barby when the postman came. It made 
her throat ache to see that little shadow of disap- 
pointment creep into Barby’s lovely gray eyes and 
then see her turn away with her lips pressed together 
tight for a moment before she began to hum or speak 


180 Georgina of the Rainbows 

brightly about something else. No Chinese letter 
had come in her absence to be forwarded. 

Georgina wished her father could know how very 
much Barby cared about hearing from him. Maybe 
if his attention were called to it he would write 
oftener. If the editor of a big newspaper like Grand- 
father Shirley, thought her letters were good enough 
to print, maybe her father might pay attention to 
one of them. A resolve to write to him some day 
began to shape itself in her mind. 

She would have been surprised could she have 
known that already one of her epistles was on its ' 
way to him. Barby had sent him the “rainbow let- 
ter.” For Barby had not drawn off silent and hurt 
when his letters ceased to come, as many a woman 
would have done. 

“Away off there in the interior he has missed the 
mails,” she told herself. “Or the messenger he 
trusted may have failed to post his letters, or he may 
be ill. I’ll not judge him until I know.” 

After Georgina’s letter came she resolutely put her 
forebodings and misgivings aside many a time, 
prompted by it to steer onward so steadily that hope 
must do as Uncle Darcy said, “make rainbows even 
of her tears.” 

Georgina wrote on until dinner time, telling all 
about the way she had spent her birthday dollar. 
After dinner when the sunshine had dried all traces 
of the previous night’s rain, she persuaded Tippy 


In the Keeping of the Dunes 181 

that she was entirely over the effects of the gas, and 
perfectly able to go down street and select the picture 
postals with which to conduct her daily correspond- 
ence. 

Richard joined her as she passed the bungalow. 
They made a thrilling afternoon for themselves by 
whispering to each other whenever any strange-look- 
ing person passed them, “S’pose that was the owner 
of the pouch and he was looking for us.” The dread 
of their sin finding them out walked like a silent- 
footed ghost beside them all the way, making the two 
pairs of brown eyes steal furtive glances at each 
other now and then, and delicious little shivers of 
apprehension creep up and down their backs. 

Whether it was the passing of the unseasonable 
weather into hot July sunshine again or whether the 
wild-cat liniment was responsible, no one undertook 
to say, but Mrs. Triplett’s rheumatism left her sud- 
denly, and at a time when she was specially glad to be 
rid of it. The Sewing Circle, to which she belonged, 
was preparing for a bazaar at the Church of the 
Pilgrims, and her part in it would keep her away 
from home most of the time for three days. 

That is why Georgina had unlimited freedom fori 
a while. She was left in Belle’s charge, and Belle, 
still brooding over her troubles, listlessly assented to 
anything proposed to her. Belle had been allowed to 
go and come as she pleased when she was ten, and 


182 Georgina of the Rainbows 

she saw no reason why Georgina was not equally 
capable of taking care of herself. 

Hardly was Mrs. Triplett out of sight that first 
morning when Georgina slipped out of the back gate 
with a long brass-handled fire-shovel, to meet Rich- 
ard out on the dunes. He brought a hoe, and in his 
hand was the little compass imbedded in the nut. 

When all was ready, according to Georgina’s in- 
structions, he turned around three times, then facing 
the east tossed the compass over his shoulder, say- 
ing solemnly, “Brother, go find your brother.” She 
stood ready to mark the spot when it should fall, but 
Captain Kidd was ahead of her and had the nut in 
his teeth before she could reach the place where it 
had touched the ground. So Richard took the nut 
away and held the agitated little terrier by the collar 
while Georgina went through the same ceremony. 

This time Richard reached the nut before the dog, 
and drew a circle around the spot where it had lain. 
Then he began digging into the sand with the hoe so 
industriously that Captain Kidd was moved to frantic 
barking. 

“Here, get to work yourself and keep quiet,” or- 
dered Richard. “Rats! You’ll have Cousin James 
coming out to see what we’re doing, first thing you 
know. He thinks something is the matter now, every 
time you bark. Rats ! I s-ay„” 

The magic word had its effect. After an instant 


In the Keeping of the Dunes 183 

of quivering eagerness the dog pounced into the hole 
which Richard had started, and sent the sand flying 
furiously around him with his active little paws. 
Georgina dragged the accumulating piles aside with 
the fire-shovel on one side, and Richard plied the hoe 
/on the other. When the hole grew too deep for Cap- 
tain Kidd to dig in longer, Richard stepped in and 
went deeper. But it was unsatisfactory work. The 
shifting sand, dry as powder at this depth, was con- 
stantly caving in and filling up the space. 

They tried making new holes, to the north of the 
old one, then to the south, then on the remaining 
sides. They were still at it when the whistle at the 
cold-storage plant blew for noon. Georgina rubbed 
a sleeve across her red, perspiring face, and shook 
the ends of her curls up and down to cool her hot 
neck. 

“I don’t see how we can dig any more to-day,” she 
said wearily. “The sun is blistering. I feel all 
scorched.” 

“I’ve had enough,” confessed Richard. “But 
we’ve got to find that pouch.” 

After a moment’s rest, leaning on the hoe-handle, 
he had an inspiration. “Let’s get Manuel and Joseph 
and Rosa to help us. They’d dig all day for a 
nickel.” 

“I haven’t one nickel left,” said Georgina. Then 
she thought a moment. “But I could bring some 
jelly-roll. Those Fayals would dig for eats as quick 


184 Georgina of the Rainbows 

as they would for money. I’ll tell Belle we’re going 
to have a sort of a picnic over here and she’ll let me 
bring all that’s left in the cake box.” 

Richard investigated his pockets. A solitary nickel 
was all he could turn out. “Two cents for each of 
the boys and one for Rosa,” he said, but Georgina 
shook her head. 

“Rosa would make trouble if you divided that 
way. She’d howl till somebody came to see what 
was the matter. But we could do this way. The 
one who gets the least money gets the most jelly- 
roll. We’ll wait till the digging is over and then let 
them divide it to suit themselves.” 

By five o’clock that afternoon, the compass had 
been sent to “hunt brother” in a hundred different 
places, and the hollow circled by the bayberry bushes 
and beach plums where the pouch had been hidden 
filled with deep holes. Captain Kidd had responded 
to the repeated call of “Rats” until the magic word 
had lost all charm for him. Even a dog comes to 
understand in time when a fellow creature has “an 
axe to grind.” Finally, he went off and lay down, 
merely wagging his tail in a bored way when any 
further effort was made to arouse his enthusiasm. 

The Fayal children, working valiantly in the 
trenches, laid down arms at last and strolled home, 
their faces streaked with jelly-roll, and Georgina 
went wearily up the beach, dragging her fire-shovel 
after her. She felt that she had had enough of the 


In the Keeping of the Dunes 185 

dunes to last her the rest of her natural lifetime. She 
seemed to see piles of sand even when she looked at 
the water or when her eyes were shut. 

“But we won’t give up,” she said staunchly as she 
parted from Richard. “We’re obliged to find that 
v pouch, so we’ve got to keep hope at the prow.” 

“Pity all this good digging has to be wasted,” said 
Richard, looking around at the various holes. “If 
it had all been in one place, straight down, it would 
have been deep enough to strike a pirate’s chest by 
this time. I hope they’ll fill up before anybody comes 
this way to notice them.” 

“Somehow, I’m not so anxious as I was to go off 
‘a-piratin’ so bold,’ ” said Georgina with a tired sigh. 
“I’ve had enough digging to last me forever and al- 
ways, amen.” 

The Fayal children, surfeited with one afternoon 
of such effort, and not altogether satisfied as to the 
division of wages which had led to war in their 
midst, did not come back to the Place of the Pouch 
next morning, but Richard and Georgina appeared 
promptly, albeit with sore muscles and ebbing en- 
thusiasm. Only stern necessity and fear of conse- 
quences kept them at their task. 

Cousin James had reported that there was a fish- 
ing vessel in that morning with two enormous horse 
mackerel in the catch, which were to be cut up and 
salted at Railroad wharf. It was deliciously cool 
down on the wharf, with the breeze blowing off the 


186 Georgina of the Rainbows 

water through the great packing shed, and the white 
sails scudding past the open doors like fans. With 
Mrs. Triplett busy with the affairs of the Bazaar, 
it would have been a wonderful opportunity for 
Georgina to have gone loitering along the p ; er, 
watching the summer people start off in motor boats 
or spread themselves lazily under flapping sails for 
a trip around the harbor. 

But something of the grim spirit of their ances- 
tors, typified by the monument looking down on them 
from the hill, nerved both Richard and Georgina one 
more time to answer to the stern call of Duty, 


CHAPTER XVIII 


FOUND OUT 

DREAMED about that old pouch last night/’ 
■*“ said Richard in one of the intervals of rest 
which they allowed themselves. 

“I dreamed that it belonged to a Chinese man 
with crooked, yellow finger-nails a foot long. He 
came and stood over my bed and said that because 
there was important news in that letter and we buried 
it, and kept it from going to where it ought to go, we 
had to be buried alive. And he picked me up like I 
was that nut and tossed me over his shoulder, and 
said, ‘Brother, go find your brother.’ And I began 
sinking down in the sand deeper and deeper until I 
began to smother.” 

Georgina made no answer. The dream did not 
impress her as being at all terrifying. She had swung 
her prism around her neck that morning when she 
dressed, and now while she rested she amused her= 
{ self by flashing the bars of color across Captain Kidd, 
i Richard resented her lack of interest. 

“Well, it may not sound very bad out here in the 
daylight, but you ought to have had it. I yelled until 
Daddy shook me and told me I’d wake up the whole 
187 


i88 Georgina of the Rainbows 

end of town with such a nightmare. If you’d have 
seen that old Chinaman’s face like a dragon’s, you’d 
understand why I feel that we’ve just got to find that 
pouch. It’s going to get us into some kind of trouble, 
certain sure, if we don’t.” 

Georgina rose to begin digging again. “It’s lucky 
nobody ever comes this way to see all these holes,” 
she began, but stopped with her shovel half lifted. A 
familiar voice from the circle of bushes at the top of 
the dune called down cheerily : 

“Ship ahoy, mates. What port are you bound for 
now? Digging through to China?” 

“It’s Uncle Darcy!” they exclaimed in the same 
breath. He came plunging down the side of the dune 
before they could recover from their confusion. 
There was a pail of blueberries in each hand. He 
had been down the state road picking them, and was 
now on his way to the Gray Inn to sell them to the 
housekeeper. Leaving the pails in a level spot under 
the shade of a scrubby bush, he came on to where 
the children were standing, and eased himself stiffly 
down to a seat on the sand. It amused him to see 
their evident embarrassment, and his eyes twinkled 
as he inquired: 

“What mischief are you up to now, digging all 
those gopher holes?” ' 

Neither answered for a moment, then Georgina 
gulped and found her voice. “It’s — it’s a secret,” 
she managed to say. 


Found Out 189 

“Oh,” he answered, growing instantly grave at the 
sound of that word. “Then I mustn’t ask any ques- 
tions. We must always keep our secrets. Some- 
times it’s a pity though, when one has to promise to 
do so. I hope yours isn’t the burden to you that mine 
is to me.” 

This was the first time he had spoken to them of 
the promise they had made to him and Belle. With 
a look all around as if to make certain the coast was 
clear, he said: 

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to 
you children ever since that day you had the rifle, 
and now’s as good a chance as any. I want you to 
know that I never would have promised what I did 
if it could have made any possible difference to 
Mother. But lately she seems all confused about 
Danny’s trouble. She seems to have forgotten there 
was any trouble except that he went away from home. 
For months she’s been looking for him to walk in 
most any day. 

“Ever since I gave my word to Belle, I’ve been 
studying over the right and wrong of it. I felt I 
wasn’t acting fair to Danny. But now it’s clear in 
my mind that it was the right thing to do. I argue 
it this way. Danny cared so much about saving Em- 
mett from disgrace and Belle from the pain of find- 
ing it out, that he was willing to give up his home 
and good name and everything. Now it wouldn’t be 
fair to him to make that sacrifice in vain by telling 


190 Georgina of the Rainbows 

while it can still be such a death-blow to Emmett’s 
father and hurt Belle much as ever. She’s gone on 
all these years fairly worshiping Emmett’s memory 
for being such a hero.” 

Uncle Darcy stopped suddenly and seemed to be 
drawn far away from them as if he had gone inside 
of himself with his own thoughts and forgotten their 
presence. Georgina sat and fanned herself with her 
shade hat. Richard fumbled with the little compass, 
rolling it from one hand to the other, without giving 
any thought to what he was doing. Presently it 
rolled away from him and Captain Kidd darted after 
it, striking it with his forepaws as he landed on it, 
and thus rolling it still farther till it stopped at the 
old man’s feet. 

Recalled to his surroundings in this way, Uncle 
Darcy glanced at the object indifferently, but some- 
thing strangely familiar in its appearance made him 
lean closer and give it another look. He picked it 
up, examining it eagerly. Then he stood up and 
gazed all around as if it had dropped from the sky 
and he expected to see the hand that had dropped it. 

“Where did you get this?” he demanded huskily, 
in such a queer, breathless way that Richard thought 
his day of reckoning had come. His sin had found 
him out. He looked at Georgina helplessly. 

“Yes, tell!” she exclaimed, answering his look. 

“I — I — just played it was mine,” he began. 
“ ’Cause the initials on it are the same as mine when 


Found Out 


191 

we play pirate and I’m Dare-devil Dick. I was only 
going to keep it till we dug up the pouch again. We 
were keeping it to help find the pouch like Tom Saw- 
yer did ” 

It seemed to Richard that Uncle Darcy’s hand, 
clutching his shoulder, was even more threatening 
than the Chinaman’s of his nightmare, and his voice 
more imperative. 

“Tell me! Where did you get it? That’s my 
compass! I scratched those letters on that nut. 
‘D. D.’ stands for Dan’l Darcy. I brought it home 
from my last voyage. ’Twas a good-luck nut they 
told me in the last port I sailed from. It was one 
of the first things Danny ever played with. There’s 
the marks of his first little tooth under those letters. 
I gave it to him when he got old enough to claim it, 
for the letters were his, too. He always carried it 
in his pocket and he had it with him when he went 
away. For the love of heaven, child, tell me where 
you found it?” 

The hand which clutched Richard’s shoulder was 
shaking as violently as it had the day the old rifle 
gave up its secret, and Richard, feeling the same un- 
namable terror he had felt in his nightmare, could 
only stammer, “I — I don’t know. Captain Kidd 
found it.” 

Then all three of them started violently, for a 
hearty voice just behind them called out unexpect- 
edly: 


192 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Hullo, what’s all the excitement about?” 

It was Captain James Milford, who had strolled 
down from the bungalow, his hat stuck jauntily on 
the back of his head, and his hands in his pockets. 
A few moments before he had been scanning the 
harbor through a long spy-glass, and happening to 
turn it towards the dunes had seen the two children 
digging diligently with shovel and hoe. 

“Looks as if they’d started to honey-comb the 
whole Cape with holes,” he thought. “Curious how 
many things kids of that age can think of. It might 
be well to step down and see what they’re about.” 

He put up the spy-glass and started down, ap- 
proaching them on one side as the Towncrier reached 
them on the other. 

“Now for a yarn that’ll make their eyes stand 
out,” he thought with a smile as he saw the old man 
sit down on the sand. 

“Wonder if it would sound as thrilling now as it 
did when I was Dick’s age. I believe I’ll just slip 
up and listen to one for old times’ sake.” 

Uncle Darcy let go of Richard’s shoulder and 
turned to the newcomer appealingly. 

“Jimmy,” he said with a choke in his voice. “Look 
at this ! The first trace of my boy since he left me, 
and they can’t tell me where they got it.” 

He held out the compass and Mr. Milford took it 
from his trembling fingers. 

“Why, I remember this old trinket, Uncle Dan’ll” 


Found Out 193 

exclaimed Mr. Milford. “You let me carry it in 
my pocket one day when I was no bigger than Dicky, 
here, when you took me fishing with you. I thought 
it was responsible for my luck, for I made my first 
big catch that day. Got a mackerel that I bragged 
about all season.” 

Uncle Darcy seized the man’s arm with the same 
desperate grip which had held the boy’s. 

“You don’t seem to understand!” he exclaimed. 
“I’m trying to tell you that Danny is mixed up with 
this in some way. Either he’s been near here or 
somebody else has who’s seen him. He had this with 
him when he went away, I tell you. These children 
say they took it out of a pouch that the dog found. 
Help me, Jimmy. I can’t seem to think ” 

He sat weakly down on the sand again, his head in 
his hands, and Mr. Milford, deeply interested, 
turned to the children. His questions called out a 
confusing and involved account, told piecemeal by 
Georgina and Richard in turn. 

“Hold on, now, let’s get the straight of this,” he 
interrupted, growing more bewildered as the story 
proceeded. “What was in the pouch besides the 
gold pieces, the other money and this compass?” 

“A letter with a foreign stamp on it,” answered 
Richard. “I noticed specially, because I have a 
stamp almost like it in my album.” 

On being closely cross-questioned he could not 
say positively to what country the stamp belonged. 


194 Georgina of the Rainbows 

He thought it was Siam or China. Georgina re- 
called several names of towns partially scratched 
out on the back of the envelope, and the word Texas. 
She was sure of that and of “Mass.” and of “Mrs. 
Henry ” something or other. 

“But the inside of the letter,” persisted Mr. Mil- 
ford. “Didn’t you try to read that?” 

“Course not,” said Georgina, her head indignantly 
high. “We only looked at each end of it to see if the 
person’s name was on it, but it began, ‘Dear friend,’ 
and ended, ‘Your grateful friend Dave.’ ” 

“So the letter was addressed ‘Mrs./ ” began Mr. 
Milford, musingly, “but was in a tobacco pouch. 
The first fact argues that a woman lost it, the last 
that it was a man.” 

“But it didn’t smell of tobacco,” volunteered 
Georgina. “It was nice and clean only where Cap- 
tain Kidd chewed the string.” 

“I suppose it didn’t have any smell at all,” said 
Mr. Milford, not as if he expected anyone to re- 
member, but that he happened to think of it. A 
slowly dawning recollection began to brighten in 
Georgina’s eyes. 

“But it did have a smell,” she exclaimed. “I re- 
member it perfectly well now. Don’t you know, 
Richard, when you were untying it at the top of the 
steps I said ‘Phew ! that makes me think of the lini- 
ment I bought from the wild-cat woman last night,’ 
I had to hold the bottle in my lap all the time we 
were at the moving picture show so I had a chance 


Found Out 


195 

to get pretty well acquainted with that smell. And 
afterwards when we were wrapping the tin foil 
around the pouch, getting ready to bury it we both 
turned up our noses at the way it smelled. It seemed 
stronger when the sun shone on it.” 

“The wild-cat woman,” repeated Mr. Milford, 
turning on Georgina. “Where was she? What did 
you have to do with her? Was the dog with you?” 

Little by little they began to recall the evening, 
how they had started to the show with the Fayal 
family and turned aside to hear the patent medicine 
man sing, how Richard and Georgina had dared each 
other to touch the wild-cat’s tail through the bars, 
and how Georgina in climbing down from the wheel 
had stumbled over Captain Kidd whom they thought 
safely shut up at home. 

“I believe we’ve found a clue,” said Mr. Milford 
at last. “If anybody in town had lost it there’d have 
been a notice put up in the post-office or the owner 
would have been around for you to cry it, Uncle 
Dan’l. But if it’s the wild-cat woman’s she probably 
did not discover her loss till she was well out of town, 
and maybe not until she reached her next stopping- 
place.” 

“There’s been nothing of the sort posted on the 
bulletin board at the post-office,” said the old man. 
“I always glance in at it every morning.” 

Mr. Milford looked at him thoughtfully as if com 
sidering something. Then he said slowly: 


196 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Uncle Dan’l, just how much would it mean to 
you to find the owner of that pouch?” 

“Why, Jimmy,” was the tremulous answer, “if it 
led to any trace of my boy it would be the one great 
hope of my life realized.” 

“You are quite sure that you want to bring him 
back? That it would be best for all concerned?” 
he continued meaningly. 

There was a silence, then the old man answered 
with dignity : 

“I know what you’re thinking of, and considering 
all that’s gone before, I’m not blaming you, but I can 
tell you this, Jimmy Milford. If the town could 
know all that I know it’d be glad and proud to have 
my boy brought back to it.” 

He smote the fist of one hand into the palm of the 
other and looked about like something trapped, seek- 
ing escape. 

“It isn’t fair !” he exclaimed. “It isn’t fair 1 Him 
worthy to hold up his head with the best of them, and 
me bound not to tell. But I’ve given my promise,” 
he added, shaking his head slowly from side to side. 
“I s’pose it’ll all work out for the best, somehow, in 
the Lord’s own good time, but I can’t seem to see 
the justice in it now.” 

He sat staring dejectedly ahead of him with dim, 
appealing eyes. 

The younger man took a step forward and laid 
an arm across the bent shoulders. 


Found Out 


197 

“All right, Uncle Dan’!,’’ he said heartily. “If 
there’s anything under the sun I can do to help you 
I’m going to do it, beginning right now. Come on 
up to the house and I’ll begin this Sherlock Holmes 
business by telephoning down the Cape to every town 
on it till we locate this wild-cat liniment wagon, and 
then we’ll get after it as fast as the best automobile 
in Provincetown can take us.” 



CHAPTER XIX 


TRACING THE LINIMENT WAGON 
O Wellfleet, to Orleans, to Chatham went the 



telephone call, to Harwichport and then back 
again to the little towns on the bay side of the Cape, 
for the wild-cat and its keepers did not follow a 
straight course in their meanderings. It was some 
time before Mr. Milford succeeded in locating them. 
At last he hung up the receiver announcing: 

“They showed in Orleans last night all right, but 
it wasn’t the road to Chatham they took out of there 
this morning. It was to Brewster. We can easily 
overtake them somewhere along in that direction and 
get back home before dark.” 

There was one ecstatic moment for Georgina when 
it was made clear to her that she was included in 
that “we” ; that she was actually to have a share in 
an automobile chase like the ones that had thrilled 
her in the movies. But that moment was soon over. 

“I hardly know what to do about leaving Mother,” 
began Uncle Darcy in a troubled voice. “She’s feel- 
ing uncommon poorly to-day — she’s in bed and can’t 
seem to remember anything longer than you’re tell- 
ing it. Mrs. Saggs came in to sit with her while I 


Tracing the Liniment Wagon 199 

was out blueberrying, but she said she couldn’t stay 
past ten o’clock. She has company coming.” 

“Couldn’t you get some of the other neighbors to 
come in for the few hours you’d be away?” asked 
Mr. Milford. “It’s important you should follow up 
this clue yourself.” 

“No, Mrs. Saggs is the only one who keeps 
Mother from fretting when I’m away from her. 
Her side window looks right into our front yard, and 
ordinarily it would be enough just for her to call 
across to her now and then, but it wouldn’t do to-day, 
Mother not being as well as common. She’d forget 
where I was gone and I couldn’t bear to have her 
lying there frightened and worried and not remem- 
bering why I had left her alone. She’s like a child 
at times. You know how it is,” he said, turning to 
Georgina. “Not flighty, but just needing to be 
soothed and talked to.” 

Georgina nodded. She knew, for on several oc- 
casions she had sat beside Aunt Elspeth when she 
was in such a mood, and had quieted and pleased 
her with little songs and simple rhymes. She knew 
she could do it again to-day as effectually as Mrs. 
Saggs, if it wasn’t for giving up that exciting motor 
chase after the wild-cat woman. It seemed to her 
a greater sacrifice than flesh and blood should be 
called upon to make. She sat on the porch step, 
twirling her prism carelessly on its pink ribbon while 
she waited for the machine to be brought around. 


200 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Then she climbed into the back seat with Uncle Darcy 
and the two pails of blueberries, while Richard set- 
tled himself and Captain Kidd in front with his 
Cousin James. 

They whirled up to the Gray Inn to leave the blue- 
berries, and then around down Bradford Street to 
Fishburn Court to attempt to explain to Aunt Els- 
peth. On the way they passed the Pilgrim monu- 
ment. Georgina tried not to look at it, but she 
couldn’t help glancing up at it from the corner of 
her eye. 

“You must,” it seemed to say to her. 

% T won’t,” she as silently answered back. 

“It’s your duty,” it reminded her, “and the idea of 
a descendant of one of the Pilgrim Fathers and one 
of the Minute-men shirking her duty. A pretty mem- 
ber of the Rainbow Club you are,” it scoffed. 

They whirled by the grim monster of a monument 
quickly, but Georgina felt impelled to turn and look 
back at it, her gaze following it up higher and higher, 
above the gargoyles, to the tipmost stones which 
seemed to touch the sky. 

“I hate that word Duty,” she said savagely to 
herself. “It’s as big and ugly and as always-in-front- 
of-you as that old monument. They’re exactly alike. 
You can’t help seeing them no matter which way you 
look or how hard you try not to.” 

At the gate she tried to put the obnoxious word 
out of her mind by leaning luxuriously back in the 


Tracing the Liniment Wagon 201 

car and looking up at the chimney tops while Uncle 
Darcy stepped out and went into the house. He came 
out again almost immediately, crossed the little front 
yard and put his head in at Mrs. Saggs’ side win- 
dow. After a short conversation with her he came 
out to the gate and stood irresolutely fingering the 
latch. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he repeated, his voice 
even more troubled than before. “Mother’s asleep 
now. Mrs. Saggs says she’ll go over at twelve and 
take her her tea, but — I can’t help feeling I ought 
not to leave her alone for so long. Couldn’t you 
manage without me?” 

And then, Georgina inwardly protesting, “I don’t 
want to and I won’t,” found herself stepping out of 
the car, and heard her own voice saying sweetly: 

“I’ll stay with Aunt Elspeth, Uncle Darcy. I can 
keep her from fretting.” 

A smile of relief broke over the old man’s face 
and he said heartily: 

“Why, of course you can, honey. It never oc- 
curred to me to ask a little lass like you to stop and 
care for her, but you can do it better than anybody 
else, because Mother’s so fond of you.” 

Neither had it occurred to him or to either of the 
others that it was a sacrifice for her to give up this 
ride. There was not a word from anyone about its 
being a noble thing for her to do. Mr. Milford, in 
a hurry to be off, merely nodded his satisfaction at 


202 Georgina of the Rainbows 

having the matter arranged so quickly. Uncle Darcy 
stepped back to the window for a parting word with 
Mrs. Saggs. 

“She’ll keep an ear out for you, Georgina,” he 
said as he went back to the car. “Just call her if you 
want her for any reason. There’s plenty cooked in 
the cupboard for your dinner, and Mrs. Saggs will 
tend to Mother’s tea when the time comes. When 
she wakes up and asks for me best not tell her I’m 
out of town. Just say I’ll be back bye and bye, and 
humor her along that way.” 

And then they were off with a whirr and a clang 
that sent the chickens in the road scattering in every 
direction. Georgina was left standing by the gate 
thinking, “What made me do it? What made me 
do it? I don’t want to stay one bit.” 

The odor of gasoline cleared away and the usual 
Sabbath-like stillness settled down over all the court. 
She walked slowly across the shady little grass plot 
to the front door, hesitated there a moment, then 
went into the cottage and took off her hat. 

A glance into the dim bedroom beyond showed her 
Aunt Elspeth’s white head lying motionless on her 
pillow. The sight of the quiet sleeper made her 
feel appallingly lonesome. It was like being all by 
herself in the house to be there with one who made 
no sound or movement. She would have to find 
something to do. It was only eleven o’clock. She 
tiptoed out into the kitchen. 


Tracing the Liniment Wagon 203 

The almanac had been left lying on the table. She 
looked slowly through it, and was rewarded by find- 
ing something of interest. On the last page was a 
column of riddles, and one of them was so good she 
started to memorize it so that she could propound it 
to Richard. She was sure he never could guess it. 
Finding it harder to remember than it seemed at first 
glance, she decided to copy it. She did not know 
where to look for a sheet of paper, but remembered 
several paper bags on the pantry shelves, so she 
went in search of one. Finding one with only a cup- 
ful of sugar left in it, she tore off the top and wrote 
the riddle on that with a stub of a pencil which she 
found on the table. 

While searching for the bag she took an inventory 
of the supplies in the pantry from which she was to 
choose her dinner. When she had finished copying 
the riddle she went back to them. There were baked 
beans and blueberry pie, cold biscuit and a dish of 
honey. 

“I’ll get my dinner now,” she decided, “then I’ll 
be ready to sit with Aunt Elspeth when her tea 
comes.” 

) As Georgina went back and forth from table to 
*shelf it was in unconscious imitation of Mrs. Trip- 
lett’s brisk manner. Pattering after that capable 
housekeeper on her busy rounds as persistently as 
Georgina had done all her life, had taught her to 
move in the same way. Presently she discovered that 


204 Georgina of the Rainbows 

there was a fire laid in the little wood stove ready to 
light. The stove was so small in comparison to the 
big kitchen range at home, that it appealed to Geor- 
gina as a toy stove might have done. She stood look- 
ing at it thinking what fun it would be to cook some- 
thing on it all by herself with no Tippy standing by 
to say do this or don’t do the other. 

“I think I ought to be allowed to have some fun 
to make up for my disappointment,” she said to her- 
self as the temptation grew stronger and stronger. 

“I could cook me an egg. Tippy lets me beat them 
but she never lets me break them and I’ve always 
wanted to break one and let it go plunk into the 
pan.” 

She did not resist the temptation long. There was 
the sputter of a match, the puff of a flame, and the 
little stove was roaring away so effectively that one 
of old Jeremy’s sayings rose to her lips. Jeremy had 
a proverb for everything. 

“Little pot, soon hot,” she said out loud, gleefully, 
and reached into the cupboard for the crock of bran 
in which the eggs were kept. Then Georgina’s skill 
as an actor showed itself again, although she was not 
conscious of imitating anyone. In Tippy’s best man- 
ner she wiped out the frying-pan, settled it in a hot 
place on the stove, dropped in a bit of butter. 

With the assured air of one who has had long 
practice, she picked up an egg and gave it a sharp 
crack on the edge of the pan, expecting it to part 


Tracing the Liniment Wagon 205 

evenly into halves and its contents to glide properly 
into the butter. It looked so alluringly simple and 
easy that she had always resented Tippy’s saying 
she would make a mess of it if she tried to do it. But 
mess was the only name which could be given to what 
poured out on the top of the stove as her fingers 
went crashing through the shell and into the slimy 
feeling contents. The broken yolk dripped from her 
hands, and in the one instant she stood holding them 
out from her in disgust, all the rest of the egg which 
had gone sliding over the stove, cooked, scorched and 
turned to a cinder. 

The smell and smoke of the burning egg rose to 
the ceiling and filled the room. Georgina sprang to 
close the door so that the odor would not rouse Aunt 
Elspeth, and then with carving knife and stove-lid 
lifter, she scraped the charred remains into the fire. 

“And it looked so easy,” she mourned. “Maybe I 
didn’t whack it quickly enough. I’m going to try 
again.” She felt into the bran for another egg. This 
time she struck the shell so hard that its contents 
splashed out sideways with an unexpected squirt and 
slid to the floor. She was ready to cry as she wiped 
up the slippery stuff, but there came to her mind some 
verses which Tippy had taught her long ago. And 
so determined had Tippy been for her to learn them, 
that she offered the inducement of a string of blue 
beads. The name of the poem was “Perseverance,” 
and it began : 


206 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Here’s a lesson all should heed 

Try, try again . 
If at first you don’t succeed, 

Try, try again ” 


and it ended, 

“That which other folks can do 
Why with patience may not you ? 

Try, try again T 

Tippy sowed that seed the same winter that she 
taught Georgina “The Landing of the Pilgrims” ; but 
surely, no matter how long a time since then, Tippy 
should be held accountable for the after effects of 
that planting. If Georgina persevered it was no 
more than could be expected considering her rigorous 
up-bringing. 

Georgina pushed the frying-pan to the back of the 
stove where it was cooler, and with her red lips 
pursed into a tight line, chose another egg, smote it 
sharply on the edge of the pan, thereby cracking it 
and breaking the shell into halves. Her thumbs 
punched through into the yolk of this one also, but/ 
by letting part of the shell drop with it, she managed 
to land it all in the pan. That was better. She fished 
out the fragment of shell and took another egg. 

This time the feat was accomplished as deftly as 
an expert chef ould have done it, and a pleased smile 


Tracing the Liniment Wagon 207 

took the place of the grim determination on Geor- 
gina’s face. Elated by her success she broke another 
egg, then another and another. It was as easy as 
breathing or winking. She broke another for the 
pure joy of putting her dexterity to the test once 
more. Then she stopped, appalled by the pile of 
empty shells confronting her accusingly. She counted 
them. She had broken eight — three-fourths of a set- 
ting. What would Uncle Darcy say to such a wicked 
waste ? She could burn the shells, but what an awful 
lot of insides to dispose of. All mixed up as they 
were, they couldn’t be saved for cake. There was 
nothing to do but to scramble them. 

Scramble them she did, and the pan seemed to 
grow fuller and fuller as she tossed the fluffy mass 
about with a fork. It was fun doing that. She made 
the most of this short space of time, and it was over 
all too soon. She knew that Aunt Elspeth had grown 
tired of eggs early in the summer. There was no 
use saving any for her. Georgina herself was not 
especially fond of them, but she would have to eat 
all she could to keep them from being wasted. 

Some time after she rose from the table and looked 
at the dish with a feeling of disgust that there could 
still be such a quantity left, after she had eaten so 
much that it was impossible to enjoy even a taste 
of the blueberry pie or the honey. Carrying the dish 
out through the back door she emptied it into the 
cats’ pan, fervently wishing that John and Mary 


208 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Darcy and old Yellownose could dispose of it all 
without being made ill. 

Long ago she had learned to do her sums in the 
sand. Now she stooped down and with the handle 
of her spoon scratched some figures in the path. “If 
twelve eggs cost thirty cents, how much will eight 
eggs cost?” That was the sum she set for herself. 
Only that morning she had heard Tippy inquire 
the price of eggs from the butter-woman, and say 
they were unusually high and hard to get because 
they were so many summer people in town this sea- 
son. She didn’t know where they were going to get 
enough for all the cakes necessary for the Bazaar. 

It took Georgina some time to solve the problem. 
Then going back to the kitchen she gathered up all 
the shells and dropped them into the fire. Her sac- 
rifice was costing her far more than she had antici- 
pated. Somehow, somewhere, she must get hold of 
twenty cents to pay for those eggs. Duty again, 
i Always Duty. But for that one horrid word she 
would be racing down the road to Brewster in the 
wake of the wild-cat woman. She wondered if they 
had caught up with her yet. 

% 

f 



CHAPTER XX 


DANCE OF THE RAINBOW FAIRIES 

EORGINA, intent on washing the frying-pan 
and cleaning the last vestige of burnt egg from 
the top of the stove, did not hear Mrs. Saggs come 
in at the front door with Aunt Elspeth’s dinner on a 
tray. Nor did she hear the murmur of voices that 
went on while it was being eaten. The bedroom was 
in the front of the house, and the rasping noise she 
was making as she scratched away with the edge of 
an iron spoon, kept her from hearing anything else. 
So when the door into the kitchen suddenly opened it 
gave her such a start that she dropped the dishcloth 
into the woodbox. 

Mrs. Saggs sniffed suspiciously. There was some- 
thing reproachful in the mere tilt of her nose which 
Georgina felt and resented. 

“I thought I smelled something burning.” 

“I s’pect you did,” Georgina answered calmly. 
“But it’s all over now. I was getting my dinner 
early, so’s I could sit with Aunt Elspeth afterward.” 

Mrs. Saggs had both hands full, as she was carry- 
ing her tray, so she could not open the stove to look 
in; but she walked over towards it and peered at it 
from a closer viewpoint, continuing to sniff. But 
there was nothing for her to discover, no clue to the 
200 


210 Georgina of the Rainbows 

smell. Everything which Georgina had used was 
washed and back in place now. The sharp eyes 
made a survey of the kitchen, watching Georgina 
narrowly as the child, having rinsed the dishcloth 
after its fall, leaned out of the back door to hang 
it on a bush in the sun, as Uncle Darcy always did. 

“You’ve been taught to be real neat, haven’t you?” 
she said in an approving tone which made Georgina 
like her better. Then her glance fell on a work- 
basket which had been left sitting on top of the flour 
barrel. In it was a piece of half-finished mending. 
The sharp eyes softened. 

“I declare!” she exclaimed. “It’s downright piti- 
ful the way that old man tries to do for himself and 
his poor old wife. It’s surprising, though, how well 
he gets along with the housework and taking care of 
her and all.” 

She glanced again at the needle left sticking in the 
clumsy unfinished seam, and recognized the garment. 

“Well, I wish you’d look at that! Even trying 
to patch her poor old nightgown for her ! Can you 
beat that? Here, child, give it to me. My hands 
are full with this tray, so just stick it under my arm. 
I’ll mend it this afternoon while I’m setting talking 
to the company.” 

She tightened her grip on the bundle which Geor- 
gina thrust under her arm, and looked down at it. 

“Them pitiful old stiff fingers of his’n!” she ex- 
claimed. “They sure make a botch of sewing, but 


Dance of the Rainbow Fairies 211 

they don’t ever make a botch of being kind. Well, 
I’m off now. Guess you’d better run in and set with 
Mis’ Darcy for a spell, for she’s waked up real natu- 
ral and knowing now, and seems to crave company.” 

Georgina went, but paused on the way, seeing 
the familiar rooms in a new light, since Mrs. Saggs’ 
remarks had given her new and illuminating insight. 
Everywhere she looked there was something as elo- 
quent as that bit of unfinished mending to bear wit- 
ness that Uncle Darcy was far more than just a 
weather-beaten old man with a smile and word of 
cheer for everybody. Ringing the Towncrier’s belr 
and fishing and blueberrying and telling yarns and 
helping everybody bear their trouble was the least 
part of his doings. That was only what the world 
saw. That was all she had seen herself until this 
moment. 

Now she was suddenly aware of his bigness of soul 
which made him capable of an infinite tenderness and 
capacity to serve. His devotion to Aunt Elspeth 
spread an encircling care around her as a great oak 
throws the arms of its shade, till her comfort was his 
constant thought, her happiness his greatest desire. 

* “Them pitiful, old, stiff fingers of his’n!” How 
could Mrs. Saggs speak of them so? They were 
heroic, effectual fingers. Theirs was something far 
greater than the Midas touch — they transmuted the 
smallest service into Love’s gold. 

Georgina, with her long stretching up to books that 


212 Georgina of the Rainbows 

were “over her head,” understood this without being 
able to put it into words. Nor could she put into 
words the longing which seized her like a dull ache, 
for Barby to be loved and cared for like that, to be 
as constantly and supremely considered. She 
couldn’t understand how Aunt Elspeth, old and 
wrinkled and childish, could be the object of such 
wonderful devotion, and Barby, her adorable, w r in- 
some Barby, call forth less. 

“Not one letter in four long months,” she thought 
bitterly. 

“Dan’l,” called Aunt Elspeth feebly from the next 
room, and Georgina went in to assure her that Uncle 
Darcy was not out in the boat and would not be 
brought home drowned. He was attending to some 
important business and would be back bye and bye. 
In the meantime, she was going to hang her prism 
in the window where the sun could touch it and let the 
rainbow fairies dance over the bed. 

The gay flashes of color, darting like elfin wings 
here and there as Georgina twisted the ribbon, 
pleased Aunt Elspeth as if she were a child. She 
lifted a thin, shriveled hand to catch at them and 
gave a weak little laugh each time they eluded her 
grasp. It was such a thin hand, almost transparent, 
with thick, purplish veins standing out on it. 
Georgina glanced at her own and wondered if Aunt 
Elspeth’s ever could have been dimpled and soft like 
hers. It did not seem possible that this frail old 


Dance of the Rainbow Fairies 213 

woman with the snowy-white hair and sunken cheeks 
could ever have been a rosy child like herself. As 
if in answer to her thought, Aunt Elspeth spoke, 
groping again with weak, ineffectual passes after the 
rainbows. 

“I can’t catch them. They bob around so. That’s 
the way I used to be, always on the move. They 
called me ‘Bouncing Bet !’ ” 

“Tell me about that time,” urged Georgina. Back 
among early memories Aunt Elspeth’s mind walked 
with firm, unfailing tread. It was only among those 
of later years that she hesitated and groped her way 
as if lost in fog. By the time the clock had struck 
the hours twice more Georgina felt that she knew in- 
timately a mischievous girl whom her family called 
Bouncing Bet for her wild ways, but who bore no 
trace of a resemblance to the feeble old creature who 
recounted her pranks. 

And the blue-eyed romp who could sail a boat like 
a boy or swim like a mackerel grew up into a slender 
slip of a lass with a shy grace which made one think 
of a wild-flower. At least that is what the old 
daguerreotype showed Georgina when Aunt Elspeth 
sent her rummaging through a trunk to find it. 
It was taken in a white dress standing beside a young 
sailor in his uniform. No wonder Uncle Darcy 
looked proud in the picture. But Georgina never 
would have known it was Uncle Darcy if she hadn’t 
been told. He had changed, too. 


214 Georgina of the Rainbows 

The picture make Georgina think of one of Bar- 
by’s songs, and presently when Aunt Elspeth was 
tired of talking she sang it to her: 

“Hand in hand when our life was May . 

Hand in hand when our hair is gray . 

Sorrow and sun for everyone 
As the years roll on. 

Hand in hand when the long night tide 

Gently covers us side by side 

Ah, lad, though we know not when, , 

Love will be with us forever then. 

Always the same, Darby my own, 

Always the same to your old wife Joan!” 

After that there were other songs which Aunt Els- 
peth asked for, “Oh, wert thou in the cauld blast,” 
and “Robin Adair.” Then came a long tiresome 
pause when Georgina didn’t know what to do next, 
and Aunt Elspeth turned her head restlessly on the 
pillow and seemed uneasy. 

Georgina wished with all her heart she was out 
of the stuffy little bedroom. If she had gone with 
the others, she would be speeding along the smooth, 
white road now, coming home from Brewster, with 
the wind and sunshine of all the wide, free outdoors 
around her. 

Aunt Elspeth drew a long, tired sigh. 


Dance of the Rainbow Fairies 215 

“Maybe you’d like me to read to you,” ventured 
Georgina. She hesitated over making such an offer, 
because there were so few books in the house. Noth- 
ing but the almanac looked interesting. Aunt Els- 
peth assented, and pointed out a worn little volume 
i of devotions on top of the bureau, saying: 

“That’s what Dan’l reads me on Sundays.” 

Georgina opened it. Evidently it had been com* 
piled for the use of sea-faring people, for it was full 
of the promises that sailor-folk best understand; 
none of the shepherd psalms or talk of green pas- 
tures and help-giving hills. It was all about mighty 
waters and paths through the deep. She settled her- 
self comfortably in the low rocking-chair beside the 
bed, tossed back her curls and was about to begin, 
when one of the rainbow lights from the prism 
danced across the page. She waited, smiling, until it 
glimmered away. Then she read the verses on which 
it had shone. 

“All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me t 
yet the Lord will command His loving kindness in the 
daytime , and in the night His song shall be with me” 

The sweet little voice soothed the troubled spirit 
that listened like music. 

“When thou passeth through the waters I will be 
with thee , and through the rivers: they shall not over- 
flow thee. . . . Thus saith the Lord which maketh 
a way in the sea , and a path in the mighty waters ” 


216 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Aunt Elspeth reached out a groping hand for 
Georgina’s and took the soft little fingers in hers. 
Georgina didn’t want to have her hand held, espe- 
cially in such a stiff, bony clasp. It made her uncom- 
fortable to sit with her arm stretched up in such a 
position, but she was too polite to withdraw it, so she 
read on for several pages. 

“He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves 
thereof are still. So He bring eth them into their de- 
sired haven yy 

Attracted by the sound of heavy breathing, she 
looked up. Aunt Elspeth was asleep. Georgina 
laid the book on the table, and slowly, very slowly 
began to raise herself out of the chair, afraid of 
arousing the sleeper who still held her hand. As she 
stood up, the board in the floor under her squeaked. 
She was afraid to take another step or to try to pull 
her hand away. She had come to the end of her re- 
sources for entertainment, and she was afraid Aunt 
Elspeth’s next awakening might be to a crying, rest- 
less mood which she could not control. So she sat 
down again. 

It was very still in the bedroom. A fly buzzed 
on the outside of the window screen, and away off 
on another street the “accommodation” was going 
by. She could hear the bells jingling on the horses. 
As she sat thus, not even rocking, but just jiggling 
the chair a trifle, the words she had read began to 
come back to her after a while like a refrain: “So 


Dance of the Rainbow Fairies 217 

He bringeth them into their desired haven. So He 
bringeth them into their desired haven.” She whis- 
pered them over and over as she often whispered 
songs, hearing the music which had no tone except in 
her thought. 

And presently, as the whispered song repeated it- 
self, the words began to bring a wonderful sense of 
peace and security. She did not realize what it was 
that was speaking to her through them. It was the 
faith which had lived so long in these lowly little 
rooms. It was the faith which had upborne Uncle 
Darcy year after year, helping him to steer onward 
in the confidence that the Hand he trusted would 
fulfil all its promises. She felt the subtle influence 
that goes out from such lives, without knowing what 
it was that touched her. She was conscious of it 
only as she was conscious of the nearness of migno- 
nette when its fragrance stole in from the flower-bed 
under the window. They were both unseen but the 
mignonette’s fragrance was wonderfully sweet, and 
the feeling of confidence, breathing through the 
words of the old psalm was wonderfully strong. 
Some day she, too, would be brought, and Barby 
would be brought into “their desired haven.” 

Georgina was tired. It had been a full day, be- 
ginning with that digging in the dunes. Presently 
she began to nod. Then the rocking chair ceased to 
sway. When the clock struck again she did not hear 
it. She was sound asleep with her hand still clasped 
in Aunt Elspeth’s. 


CHAPTER XXI 


ON THE TRAIL OF THE WILD-CAT WOMAN 

M EANWHILE, the pursuing party had made the 
trip to ‘Brewster and were on their way home. 
At the various small towns where they stopped to 
ask questions, they found that the patent-medicine 
vendors had invariably followed one course. They 
had taken supper at the hotel, but after each even- 
ing’s performance had driven into the country a 
little way to camp for the night in the open. At 
Orleans an acquaintance of Mr. Milford’s in a feed 
store had much to say about them. 

“I don’t know whether they camp out of consider- 
ation for the wild-cat, or whether it’s because they’re 
attached to that rovin’, gypsy life. They’re good 
spenders, and from the way they sold their liniment 
here last night, you’d think they could afford to put 
up at a hotel all the time and take a room for the 
cat in the bargain. You needn’t tell me that beast 
ever saw the banks of the Brazos. I’ll bet they 
caught it up in the Maine woods some’rs. But they 
seem such honest, straightforward sort of folks, 
somehow you have to believe ’em. They’re a friendly 
pair, too, specially the old lady. Seems funny to 
218 


On the Trail of the Wild-Cat Woman 219 

hear you speak of her as the wild-cat woman. That 
name is sure a misfit for her.” 

Mr. Milford thought so himself, when a little later 
he came across her, a mile out of Brewster. She was 
sitting in the wooden rocking chair in one end of the 
’ wagon, placidly darning a pair of socks, while she 
waited for her husband to bring the horses from some 
place up in the woods whece he had taken them for 
water. They had been staked by the roadside all 
night to graze. The wild-cat was blinking drowsily 
in its cage, having just been fed. 

Some charred sticks and a little pile of ashes by 
the roadside, showed where she had cooked dinner 
over a camp-fire, but the embers were carefully ex- 
tinguished and the frying pan and dishes were stowed 
out of sight in some mysterious compartment under 
the wagon bed, as compactly as if they had been 
parts of a Chinese puzzle. Long experience on the 
road had taught her how to pack with ease and dex- 
terity. / 

She looked up with interest as the automobile drew 
out of the road, and stopped alongside the wagon. 
<She was used to purchasers following them out of 
"own for the liniment after a successful show like 
last night’s performance. 

Despite the feedman’s description of her, Mr. 
Milford had expected to see some sort of an adven- 
turess such as one naturally associates with such a 
business, and when he saw the placid old lady with 


220 Georgina of the Rainbows 

the smooth, gray hair, and met the gaze of the 
motherly eyes peering over her spectacles at him, he 
scarcely knew how to begin. Uncle Darcy, growing 
impatient at the time consumed in politely leading 
up to the object of their coming, fidgetted in his seat. 
At last he could wait no longer for remarks about 
weather and wild-cats. Such conversational paths led 
nowhere. He interrupted abruptly. 

“I’m the Towncrier from Provincetown, ma’am. 
Did you lose anything while you were there?” 

“Well, now,” she began slowly. “I can’t say 
where I lost it. I didn’t think it was in Provincetown 
though. I made sure it was some place between Har- 
wichport and Orleans, and I had my man post notices 
in both those places.” 

“And what was it you lost?” inquired Mr. Mil- 
ford politely. He had cautioned his old friend on 
the way down at intervals of every few miles, not to 
build his hopes up too much on finding that this 
woman was the owner of the pouch. 

“You may have to follow a hundred different clues 
before you get hold of the right one,” he warned 
him. “We’re taking this trip on the mere chance that 
we’ll find the owner, just because two children as- 
sociated the pouch in their memory with the odor of 
liniment. It is more than likely they’re mistaken 
and that this is all a wild-goose chase.” 

But Uncle Darcy had built his hopes on it, had set 
his heart on finding this was the right clue, and his 




On the Trail of the Wild-Cat Woman 221 

beaming face said, “I told you so,” when she an- 
swered: 

“It was a little tobacco pouch, and I’m dreadfully 
put out over losing it, because aside from the valu- 
ables and keep-sakes in it there was a letter that’s 
been following me all over the country. It didn’t 
reach me till just before I got to Provincetown. It’s 
from some heathen country with such an outlandish 
name I couldn’t remember it while I was reading it, 
scarcely, and now I’ll never think of it again while 
the world wags, and there’s no way for me to answer 
it unless I do.” 

“Oh, don’t say that!” exclaimed Uncle Darcy. 
“You must think of it. And I must know. How did 
this come into your hands?” 

He held out the little watch-fob charm, the com- 
pass set in a nut and she seized it eagerly. 

“Well, you did find my pouch, didn’t you?” she 
exclaimed. “I made sure that was what you were 
aiming to tell me. That’s a good-luck charm. It 
was given to me as much as eight years ago, by a 
young fellow who was taken sick on our ranch down 
in Texas. He’d been working around the docks in 
Galveston, but came on inland because somebody 
roped him in to believe he could make a fortune in 
cattle in a few months. He was riding fences for 
Henry, and he came down with a fever and Henry 
and me nursed him through.” 

Always talkative, she poured out her information 


222 Georgina of the Rainbows 

now in a stream, drawn on by the compelling eager- 
ness of the old man’s gaze. 

“He was a nice boy and the most grateful soul 
you ever saw. But he didn’t take to the cattle busi- 
ness, and he soon pushed on. He was all broke up 
when it came to saying good-bye. You could see 
that, although he’s one of your quiet kind, hiding his 
real feelings like an Indian. He gave me this good- 
luck charm when he left, because he didn’t have any- 
thing else to give, to show he appreciated our nurs- 
ing him and doing for him, and he said that he’d 
make it bring us good luck or die a-trying and we’d 
hear from him some of these days.” 

“And you did?” 

The old man’s face was twitching with eagerness 
as he asked the question. 

“Yes, about five years ago he sent us a nice little 
check at Christmas. Said he had a good job with 
a wealthy Englishman who spent his time going 
around the world discovering queer plants and writ- 
ing books about them. He was in South America 
then. We’ve heard from him several times since. 
This last letter followed me around from pillar to 
post, always just missing me and having to have the 
address scratched out and written over till you could 
hardly make head or tail of what was on it. 

“He asked me to write to the address he gave me, 
but whether it was in ‘Afric’s sunny fountain or In- 


On the Trail of the Wild-Cat Woman 223 

dia’s coral strand,’ I can’t tell now. It was some 
heathenish ‘land in error’s chain,’ as the missionary 
hymn says. I was so worried over losing the letter 
on account of the address, for he did seem so bent 
on hearing from us, and he’s a nice boy. I’d hate 
to loose track of him. So I’m mighty thankful you 
found the pouch.” 

She stopped, expecting them to hand it over. 
Mr. Milford made the necessary explanation. 
He told of Captain Kidd finding it and bring- 
ing it home, of the two children burying it in 
play and the storm sweeping away every trace of the 
markers. While he told the story several automo- 
biles passed them and the occupants leaned out ^o 
look at the strange group beside the road. It was 
not every day one could see an old lady seated in a 
rocking chair in one end of an unattached wagon 
with a wild-cat in the other. These passing tourists 
would have thought it stranger still, could they have 
known how fate had been tangling the life threads of 
these people who were in such earnest conversation, 
or how it had wound them together into a queer skein 
of happenings. 

“And the only reason this compass was saved,” 
concluded Mr. Milford, “was because it had the 
initials ‘D. D.’ scratched on it, which stands for this 
little boy’s name when he plays pirate — Dare-devil 
Dick.” 

The motherly eyes smiled on Richard. “If you 


224 Georgina of the Rainbows 

want to know the real name those letters stand for,” 
she said, “it’s Dave Daniels. That’s the name of the 
boy who gave it to me.” 

Richard looked alarmed, and even Mr. Milford 
turned with a questioning glance towards Uncle 
Darcy, about to say something, when the old man 
leaned past him and spoke quickly, almost defiantly, 
as a child might have done. 

“That’s all right. I don’t care what he told you 
his name was. He had a good reason for changing 
it. And I’m going to tell you this much no matter 
what I promised. / scratched those initials on there 
my own self, over forty years ago. And the boy 
who gave it to you is named Daniel, but it’s his first 
name, same as mine. Dan’l Darcy. And the boy’s 
mine, and I’ve been hunting him for ten long years, 
and I’ve faith to believe that the good Lord isn’t 
going to disappoint me now that I’m this near the end 
of my hunt. He had a good reason for going away 
from home the way he did. He’d a good reason for 
changing his name as he did, but the time has come 
now when it’s all right for him to come back and,” 
shaking his finger solemnly and impressively at the 
woman, “I want you to get that word hack to him 
without fail” 

“But this is only circumstantial evidence, Uncle 
Dan’l,” said Mr. Milford, soothingly. “You haven’t 
any real proof that this Dave is your Danny.” 

“Proof, proof,” was the excited answer. “I tell 


On the Trail of the Wild-Cat Woman 225 

you, man, I’ve all the proof I need. All I ask for 
is the address in that letter. I’ll find my boy quick 
enough.” 

“But I don’t know,” was all the woman could 
answer. “The only w r ay in the world to find it is to 
dig up that pouch.” 

“But even if you can’t remember the new address 
tell me one of the old ones,” he pleaded. “I’ll 
take a chance on writing there and having it for- 
warded.” 

But the woman could not recall the name of a sin- 
gle city. South America, Australia, New Zealand, 
she remembered he had been in those countries, but 
that was all. Richard, upon being cross-questioned 
again, “b’leeved” the stamp was from Siam or China 
but couldn’t be certain which. 

“Here comes Henry!” exclaimed the woman in a 
relieved tone. “Maybe he’ll remember.” 

Henry, a tall, raw-boned man with iron-gray hair 
under his Texas sombrero, in his shirt sleeves and 
with his after-dinner pipe still in his mouth, came 
leisurely out of the woods, leading the horses. They 
were already harnessed, ready to be hitched to the 
wagon. He backed them up to the tongue and 
snapped the chains in place before he paused to give 
the strangers more than a passing nod of greeting. 
Then he came around to the side of the wagon near- 
est the machine, and putting one foot up on a spoke 


226 Georgina of the Rainbows 

of his front wheel, leaned over in a listening attb 
tude, while the whole story was repeated for his bene- 
fit. 

“So you’re his father,” he said musingly, looking 
at Uncle Darcy with shrewd eyes that were used to 
appraising strangers. 

“Who ever would a thought of coming across 
Dave Daniels’ tracks up here on old Cape Cod? 
You look like him though. I bet at his age you were 
as much alike as two peas in a pod. I never did 
know where he hailed from. He was a close- 
mouthed chap. But I somehow got the idea he must 
have been brought up near salt water. He talked so 
much sailor lingo.” 

“Put on your thinking-cap, Henry,” demanded his 
wife. “The gentlemen wants to know where that 
last letter was written from, what the postmark was, 
or the address inside, or what country the stamp be- 
longed to. And if you don’t know that, what are 
some of the other places he wrote to us from?” 

“You’re barking up the wrong tree when you ask 
me any such questions,” was the only answer he could 
give. “I didn’t pay any attention to anything but 
the reading matter.” 

Questions, surmises, suggestions, everything that 
could be brought up as aids to memory were of no 
avail. Henry’s memory was a blank in that one im- 
portant particular. Finally, Mr. Milford took two 
five-dollar gold pieces out of his pocket and a handful 


On the Trail of the Wild-Cat Woman 227 

of small change which he dropped into the woman’s 
lap despite her protests. 

“We’ll square up the damage the children did as 
far as possible,” he said with a laugh. “But we can’t 
get the letter back until the wind is ready to turn the 
dunes topsy-turvy again. That may be in years and 
it may be never. Let me have your address and if 
ever it is found it shall be sent directly back to you, 
and the children can inherit the money if I’m not 
here to claim it.” 

The man made a wry face at mention of his ad- 
dress. “We sort of belong to what they call the 
floating population now. Home with us means any 
old place where Mother happens to set her rocking 
chair. We’ve turned the ranch over to my daughter 
and her husband while we see something of the 
world, and as long as things go as smoothly as they 
do, we’re in no great shakes of a hurry to gkt back.” 

“But the ranch address will always find us, 
Henry,” she insisted. “Write it down for the gentle- 
men. Ain’t this been a strange happening?” she 
commented, as she received Mr. Milford’s card in 
return with the Towncrier’s name penciled on the 
back. She looked searchingly at Richard. 

“I remember you, now,” she said. “There was 
such a pretty little girl with you — climbed up on the 
wagon to touch Tim’s tail through the bars. She 
had long curls and a smile that made me want to 
hug her. She bought a bottle of liniment, I re- 


228 Georgina of the Rainbows 

member, and I’ve thought of her a dozen times since 
then, thought how a little face like that brightens up 
all the world around it.” 

“That was Georgina Huntingdon,” volunteered 
Richard. 

“Well, now, that’s a pretty name. Write it down 
on the other side of this piece of paper, sonny, and 
yours, too. Then when I go about the country I’ll 
know what to call you when I think about you. This 
is just like a story. If there was somebody who 
knew how to write it up ’twould make a good piece 
for the papers, wouldn’t it?” 

They were ready to start back now, since there 
was no more information to be had, but on one pre- 
text or another Uncle Darcy delayed. He was so 
pitifully eager for more news of Danny. The small- 
est crumb about the way he looked, what he did and 
said was seized upon hungrily, although it was news 
eight years old. And he begged to hear once more 
just what it was Danny had said about the English- 
man, and the work they were doing together. He 
could have sat there the rest of the day listening to 
her repeat the same things over and over if he had 
had his wish. Then she asked a question. 

“Who is Belle? I mind when he was out of his 
head so long with the fever he kept saying, ‘Belle 
mustn’t suffer. No matter what happens Belle must 
be spared.’ I remembered because that’s my name, 
and hearing it called out in the dead of night the 


On the Trail of the Wild-Cat Woman 229 

way a man crazy with fever would call it, naturally 
makes you recollect it.” 

“That was just a friend of his,” answered Uncle 
Darcy, “the girl who was going to marry his chum.” 

“Oh,” was the answer in a tone which seemed to 
convey a shade of disappontment. “I thought 
maybe ” 

She did not finish the sentence, for the engine had 
begun to shake noisily, and it seemed to distract her 
thoughts. And now there being really nothing more 
to give them an excuse for lingering they said good- 
bye to their wayside acquaintances, feeling that they 
were parting from two old friends, so cordial were 
the good wishes which accompanied the leave-tak- 
ing. 



CHAPTER XXII 


THE RAINBOW GAME 

TX7HTH her arm stiff and cramped from being 
^ * held so long in one position, Georgina waked 
suddenly and looked around her in bewilderment. 
Uncle Darcy was in the room, saying something 
about her >riding home in the machine. He didn’t 
want to hur^y her off, but Mr. Milford was waiting 
at the gate, and it would save her a long walk 
home 

While he talked he was leaning over Aunt Elspeth, 
patting her cheek, and she was clinging to his hand 
and smiling up at him as if he had just been restored 
to her after a long, long absence, instead of a sepa- 
ration of only a few hours. And he looked so glad 
about something, as if the nicest thing in the world 
had happened, that Georgina rubbed her eyes and 
stared at him, wondering what it could have been. 

Evidently, it was the honk of the horn which had 
aroused Georgina, and when it sounded again she 
sprang up, still confused by the suddenness of her 
awakening, with only one thing clear in her mind, the 
necessity for haste. She snatched her prism from 
the window and caught up her hat as she ran through 
the next room, but not until she was half-way home 
230 


The Rainbow Game 23 1 

did she remember that she had said nothing about 
the eggs and had asked no questions about the trip 
to Brewster. She had not even said good-bye. 

Mr. Milford nodded pleasantly when she went y 
out to the car, saying, “Hop in, kiddie,” but he did/ 
not turn around after they started and she did not 
feel well enough acquainted with him to shout out 
questions behind his back. Besides, after they had 
gone a couple of blocks he began explaining some- 
thing to Richard, who was sitting up in front of 
him, about the workings of the car, and kept on ex- 
plaining all the rest of the way home. She couldn’t 
interrupt. 

Not until she climbed out in front of her own gate 
with a shy “Thank you, Mr. Milford, for bringing 
me home,” did she find courage and opportunity to 
ask the question she longed to know. 

“Did you find the woman? Was it her pouch?” 

Mr. Milford was leaning forward in his seat to 
examine something that had to do with the shifting 
of the gears, and he answered while he investigated, 
without looking up. 

“Yes, but she couldn’t remember where the letter 
was from, so we’re not much wiser than we were be- 
fore, except that we know for a certainty that Dan 
was alive and well less than two months ago. At 
least Uncle Dan’l believes it is Dan. The woman 
calls him Dave, but Uncle Dan’l vows they’re one 
and the same.” 


232 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Having adjusted the difficulty, Mr. Milford, with 
a good-bye nod to Georgina, started on down the 
street again. Georgina stood looking after the rap- 
idly disappearing car. 

“Well, no wonder Uncle Darcy looked so happy,” 
she thought, recalling his radiant face. “It was 
knowing that Danny is alive and well that made it 
shine so. I wish I’d been along. Wish I could have 
heard every thing each one of them said. I could 
have remembered every single word to tell Richard, 
but he won’t remember even half to tell me.” 

It was in the pursuit of all the information which 
could be pumped out of Richard that Georgina 
sought the Green Stairs soon after breakfast next 
morning. Incidentally, she was on her way to a 
nearby grocery and had been told to hurry. She 
ran all the way down in order to gain a few extra 
moments in which to loiter. As usual at this time 
of morning, Richard was romping over the terraces 
with Captain Kidd. 

“Hi, Georgina,” he called, as he spied her com- 
ing. “I’ve got a new game. A new way to play 
tag. Look.” 

Plunging down the steps he held out for her in- 
spection a crystal paperweight which he had picked 
up from the library table. Its round surface had been 
cut into many facets, as a diamond is cut to make it 
flash the light, and the spots of color it threw as he 
turned it in the sun were rainbow-hued. 


The Rainbow Game 233 

“See,” he explained. “Instead of tagging Cap- 
tain Kidd with my hand I touch him with a rainbow, 
and it’s lots harder to do because you can’t always 
make it light where you want it to go, or where you 
think it is going to fall. I’ve only tagged him twice 
so far in all the time I’ve been trying, because he 
bobs around so fast. Come on, I’ll get you before 
you tag me,” he added, seeing that her prism hung 
from the ribbon on her neck. 

She did not wear it every day, but she had felt an 
especial need for its comforting this morning, and 
had put it on as she slowly dressed. The difficulty 
of restoring the eggs loomed up in front of her as a 
real trouble, and she needed this to remind her to 
keep on hoping that some way would soon turn up 
to end it. 

It was a fascinating game. Such tags are elusive, 
uncertain things. The pursuer can never be certain 
of touching the pursued. Georgina entered into it, 
alert and glowing, darting this way and that to es- 
cape being touched by the spots of vivid color. Her 
prism threw it in bars, Richard’s in tiny squares and 
triangles. 

“Let’s make them fight!” Richard exclaimed in 
the midst of it, and for a few moments the color 
spots flashed across each other like flocks of darting 
birds. Suddenly Georgina stopped, saying: 

“Oh, I forgot. I’m on my way to the grocery, and 
I must hurry back. But I wanted to ask you two 


234 Georgina of the Rainbows 

things. One was, tell me all about what the woman 
said yesterday, and the other was, think of some way 
for me to earn twenty cents. There isn’t time to 
hear about the first one now, but think right quick 
and answer the second question.” 

She started down the street, skipping backwards 
slowly, and Richard walked after her. 

“Aw, I don’t know,” he answered in a vague way. 
“At home when we wanted to make money we al- 
ways gave a show and charged a penny to get in, or 
we kept a lemonade stand; but we don’t know enough 
kids here to make that pay.” 

Then he looked out over the water and made a 
suggestion at random. A boy going along the beach 
towards one of the summer cottages with a pail in 
his hand, made him think of it. 

“Pick blueberries and sell them.” 

“I thought of that,” answered Georgina, still 
progressing towards the grocery backward. “And 
it would be a good time now to slip away while Tip- 
py’s busy with the Bazaar. This is the third day. 
But they’ve done so well they’re going to keep on with 
it another day, and they’ve thought up a lot of new 
things to-morrow to draw a crowd. One of them 
is a kind of talking tableau. I’m to be in it, so it 
wouldn’t do for me to go and get my hands all stained 
with berries when I’m to be dressed up as a part of 
the show for the whole town to come and take a look 
at me.” 


The Rainbow Game 235 

Richard had no more suggestions to offer, so with 
one more flash of the prism and a cry of “last tag,” 
Georgina turned and started on a run to the grocery. 
Richard and the paperweight followed in hot pur- 
suit. 

Up at one of the front windows of the bungalow, 
two interested spectators had been watching the game 
below. One was Richard’s father, the other was a 
new guest of Mr. Milford’s who had arrived only 
the night before. He was the Mr. Locke who was 
to take Richard and his father and Cousin James 
aw r ay on his yacht next morning. He was also a 
famous illustrator of juvenile books, and he some- 
times wrote the rhymes and fairy tales himself which 
he illustrated. Everybody in this town of artists who 
knew anything at all of the world of books and pic- 
tures outside, knew of Milford Norris Locke. Now 
as he watched the graceful passes of the two children 
darting back and forth on the board-walk below, he 
asked: 

“Who’s the little girl, Moreland? She’s the child 
of my dreams — the very one I’ve been hunting for 
weeks. She has not only the sparkle and spirit that 
I want to put into those pictures I was telling you 
about, but the grace and the curls and the mischievous 
eyes as well. Reckon I could get her to pose for 
me?” 

That is how it came about that Georgina found 
Richard’s father waiting for her at the foot of the 


236 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Green Stairs when she came running back from the 
grocery. When she went home a few minutes later, 
she carried with her something more than the cake 
of sweet chocolate that Tippy had sent her for in 
such a hurry. It was the flattering knowledge that 
a famous illustrator had asked to make a sketch of 
her which would be published in a book if it turned 
out to be a good one. 

With a sailing party and a studio reception and 
several other engagements to fill up his one day in 
Provincetown, Mr. Locke could give only a part of 
the morning to the sketches, and wanted to begin as 
soon as possible. So a few minutes after Georgina 
went dancing in with the news, he followed in Mr. 
Milford’s machine. He arrived so soon after, in 
fact, that Tippy had to receive him just as she was 
in her gingham house dress and apron. 

After looking all over the place he took Geor- 
gina down to the garden and posed her on a stone 
bench near the sun-dial, at the end of a tall, bright 
aisle of hollyhocks. There was no time to waste. 

“We’ll pretend you’re sitting on the stone rim of 
a great fountain in the King’s garden,” he said. 
6 ‘You’re trying to find some trace of the beautiful 
Princess who has been bewitched and carried away 
to a castle under the sea, that had ‘a ceiling of 
amber, a pavement of pearl.’ ” 

Georgina looked up, delighted that he had used 


The Rainbow Game 237 

a line from a poem she loved. It made her feel as 
if he were an old friend. 

“This is for a fairy tale that has just begun to 
hatch itself out in my mind, so you see it isn’t all 
quite clear yet. There’ll be lily pads in the fountain. 
Maybe you can hear what they are saying, or maybe 
the gold-fish will bring you a message, because you 
are a little mortal who has such a kind heart that 
you have been given the power to understand the 
speech of everything which creeps or swims or flies.” 

Georgina leaned over and looked into the imagi- 
nary fountain dubiously, forgetting in her interest 
of the moment that her companion was the great Mil- 
ford Norris Locke. She was entering with him into 
the spirit of his game of “pretend” as if he were 
Richard. 

“No, I’ll tell you,” she suggested. “Have it a 
frog instead of a fish that brings the message. He 
can jump right out of that lily pad on to the edge 
of the fountain where I am sitting, and then when 
you look at the picture you can see us talking to- 
gether. No one could tell what I was doing if they 
saw me just looking down into the fountain, but they 
could tell right away if the frog was here and I was j 
shaking my finger at him as if I were saying : 

“ ‘Now tell me the truth, Mr. Frog, or the Ogre 
of the Oozy Marsh shall eat you ere the day be 
done.’ ” 


238 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Don’t move. Don’t move!” called Mr. Locke, 
excitedly. “Ah, that’s perfect. That’s exactly what 
I want. Hold that pose for a moment or two. Why, 
Georgina, you’ve given me exactly what I wanted and 
a splendid idea besides. It will give the fairy tale an 
entirely new turn. If you can only hold that position 
a bit longer, then you may rest.” 

His pencil flew with magical rapidity and as he 
sketched he kept on talking in order to hold the look 
of intense interest which showed in her glowing 
face. 

“I dearly love stories like that,” sighed Georgina 
when he came to the end and told her to lean back 
and rest a while. 

“Barby — I mean my mother — and I act them all 
the time, and sometimes we make them up ourselves.” 

“Maybe you’ll write them when you grow up,” 
suggested Mr. Locke not losing a moment, but 
sketching her in the position she had taken of her 
own accord. 

“Maybe I shall,” exclaimed Georgina, thrilled 
by the thought. “My grandfather Shirley said I 
could write for his paper some day. You know he’s 
an editor, down in Kentucky. I’d like to be the edi- 
tor of a magazine that children would adore the way 
I do the St. Nicholas” 

Tippy would have said that Georgina was “run- 
ning on.” But Mr. Locke did not think so. Chil- 
dren always opened their hearts to him. He held the 


The Rainbow Game 239 

magic key. Georgina found it easier to tell him her 
inmost feelings than anybody else in the world but 
Barby. 

“That’s a beautiful game you and Dicky were 
playing this morning,” he remarked presently, “tag- 
ging each other with rainbows. I believe I’ll put it 
into this fairy tale, have the water-nixies do it as 
they slide over the water-fall.” 

“But it isn’t half as nice as the game we play in 
earnest,” she assured him. “In our Rainbow Club 
we have a sort of game of tag. We tag a person 
with a good time, or some kindness to make them 
happy, and we pretend that makes a little rainbow 
in the world. Do you think it does?” 

“It makes a very real one, I am sure,” was the 
serious answer. “Have you many members?” 

“Just Richard and me and the bank president, Mr. 
Gates, so far, but — but you can belong — if you’d 
like to.” 

She hesitated a trifle over the last part of her in- 
vitation, having just remembered what a famous 
man she was talking to. He might think she was 
taking a liberty even to suggest that he might care 
to belong. 

“I’d like it very much,” he assured her gravely, 
“if you think I can live up to the requirements.” 

“Oh, you already have,” she cried. “Think of all 
the happy hours you have made for people with 
your books and pictures — just swarms and bevies 


240 Georgina of the Rainbows 

and flocks of rainbows ! We would have put you on 
the list of honorary members anyhow. Those are 
the members who don’t know they are members,” 
she explained. “They’re just like the prisms them- 
selves. Prisms don’t know they are prisms but every- 
body who looks at them sees the beautiful places they 
make in the world.” 

“Georgina,” he said solemnly, “that is the very 
loveliest thing that was ever said to me in all my 
life. Make me club member number four and I’ll 
play the game to my very best ability. I’ll try to do 
some tagging really worth while.” 

He had been sketching constantly all the time he 
talked, and now, impelled by curiosity, Georgina got 
up from the stone bench and walked over to take 
a look at his work. He had laid aside the several 
outline studies he had made of her, and was now 
exercising his imagination in sketching a ship. 

“This is to be the one that brings the Princess 
home, and in a minute I want you to pose for the 
Princess, for she is to have curls, long, golden ones, 
and she is to hold her head as you did a few mo- 
ments ago when you were talking about looking off to 
sea.” 

Georgina brought her hands together in a quick 
gesture as she said imploringly, “Oh, do put Hope at 
the prow. Every time I pass the Figurehead House 
and see Hope sitting up on the portico roof I wish I 
could see how she looked when she was riding the 



~omb$ dcrnsrd Se<s of*2)re<tmj\ 


I 


The Rainbow Game 241 

waves on the prow of a gallant vessel. That’s where 
she ought to be, I heard a man say. He said Hope 
squatting on a portico roof may look ridiculous, but 
Hope breasting the billows is superb.” 

Mr. Locke was no stranger in the town. He knew 
the story of the figurehead as the townspeople knew 
it, now he heard its message as Uncle Darcy knew it. 
He listened as intently to Georgina as she had lis- 
tened to him. At the end he lifted his head, peering 
fixedly through half-closed eyes at nothing. 

“You have made me see the most beautiful ship,” 
he said, musingly. “It is a silver shallop coming 
across a sea of Dreams, its silken sails set wide, and 
at the prow is an angel. ‘White-handed Hope, thou 
hovering angel girt with golden wings,’ ” he quoted. 
“Yes, I’ll make it with golden wings sweeping back 
over the sides this way. See?” 

His pencil flew over the paper again, showing her 
in a few swift strokes an outline of the vision she 
had given him. 

And now Tippy would have said not only that 
Georgina was “running on,” but that she was “wound 
up,” for with such a sympathetic and appreciative 
listener, she told him the many things she would have - 
taken to Barby had she been at home. Especially, 
she talked about her difficulties in living up to the 
aim of the club. In stories there are always poor 
people whom one can benefit; patient sufferers at 
hospitals, pallid children of the slums. But in the 


242 Georgina of the Rainbows 

range of Georgina’s life there seemed to be so few 
opportunities and those few did not always turn out 
the way they should. 

For instance, there was the time she tried to cheer 
Tippy up with her “line to live by,” and her efforts 
were neither appreciated nor understood. And there 
was the time only yesterday when she stayed with 
Aunt Elspeth, and got into trouble with the eggs, and 
now had a debt on her conscience equal to eight eggs 
or twenty cents. 

It showed how well Mr. Locke understood chil- 
dren when he did not laugh over the recital of that 
last calamity, although it sounded unspeakably funny 
to him as Georgina told it. In such congenial com- 
pany the time flew so fast that Georgina was amazed 
when Mr. Milford drove up to take his distinguished 
guest away. Mr. Locke took with him what he 
had hoped to get, a number of sketches to fill in at his 
leisure. 

“They’re exactly what I wanted,” he assured her 
gratefully as he shook hands at parting. “And that 
suggestion of yours for the ship will make the most 
fetching illustration of all. I’ll send you a copy in 
oils when I get time for it, and I’ll always think of 
you, my little friend, as Georgina of the Rainbows ” 

With a courtly bow he was gone, and Georgina 
went into the house to look for the little blank book 
in which she had started to keep her two lists of 
Club members, honorary and real. The name of 


The Rainbow Game 243 

Milford Norris Locke she wrote in both lists. If 
there had been a third list, she would have written 
him down in that as the very nicest gentleman she had 
ever met. Then she began a letter to Barby, telling 
all about her wonderful morning. But it seemed to 
her she had barely begun, when Mr. Milford’s chauf- 
feur came driving back with something for her in a 
paper bag. When she peeped inside she was so as- 
tonished she nearly dropped it. 

“Eggs !” she exclaimed. Then in unconscious imi- 
tation of Mrs. Saggs, she added, “Can you beat 
that!” 

One by one she took them out and counted them. 
There were exactly eight. Then she read the card 
which had dropped down to the bottom of the bag. 

“Mr. Milford Norris Locke.” 

Above the name was a tiny rainbow done in water 
colors, and below was scribbled the words, “Last 
tag.” 

It was a pity that the new member could not 
have seen her face at that instant, its expression was 
so eloquent of surprise, of pleasure and of relief that 
her trouble had thus been wiped out of existence. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


LIGHT DAWNS FOR UNCLE DARCY 

T70R some time the faint jangle of a bell had been 
sounding at intervals far down the street. Or- 
dinarily it would have caught Georgina’s attention 
long before this, but absorbed in the letter to which 
she had returned after putting the eggs down cel- 
lar, she did not hear the ringing until it was near 
enough for the Towncrier’s message to be audible 
also. He was announcing the extra day of the Ba- 
zaar, and calling attention to the many new attrac- 
tions it would have to offer on the morrow. 

Instantly, Georgina dropped her pencil and flew 
out to meet him. Here was an opportunity to find 
out all about the Brewster trip. As he came towards 
her she saw the same look in his weather-beaten old 
face which she had wondered at the day before, when 
he was bending over Aunt Elspeth, patting her on 
the cheek. It was like the shining of a newly-lighted 
candle. 

She was not the only one who had noticed it. All 
the way up the street glances had followed him. Peo- 
ple turned for a second look, wondering what good 
fortune had befallen the old fellow. They had come 
244 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 24^ 

to expect a cheery greeting from him. He always 
left a kindly glow behind him whenever he passed. 
But to-day the cheeriness was so intensified that he 
seemed to be brimming over with good will to every- 
body. 

“Why, Uncle Darcy !” cried Georgina. “You look 
so happy!” 

“Well, is it any wonder, lass, with such news from 
Danny? Him alive and well and sure to come back 
to me some of these days ! I could hardly keep from 
shouting it out to everybody as I came along the 
street. I’m afraid it’ll just naturally tell itself some 
day, in spite of my promise to Belle. I’m glad I 
can let off steam up here, you knowing the secret, too, 
for this old heart of mine is just about to burst with 
all the gladness that’s inside of me.” 

Here was someone as anxious to tell as she was 
to hear; someone who could recall every word of 
the interview with the wild-cat woman. Georgina 
swung on to his arm which held the bell, and began 
to ask questions, and nothing loath, he let her lead 
him into the yard and to the rustic seat running 
around the trunk of the big willow tree. He was 
ready to rest, now that his route was traveled and 
his dollar earned. 

Belle, back in the kitchen, preparing a light dinner 
for herself and Georgina, Tippy being away for the 
day, did not see him come in. She had not seen 
him since the day the old rifle gave up its secret, and 


246 Georgina of the Rainbows 

she tried to put him out of her mind as much as 
possible, for she was miserable every time she 
thought of him. She would have been still more 
miserable could she have heard all that he was say- 
ing to Georgina. 

“Jimmy Milford thought that the liniment folks 
calling the boy ‘Dave,’ proved that he wasn’t the 
same as my Danny. But just one thing would have 
settled all doubts for me if I’d a had any. That was 
what he kept a calling in his fever when he was out 
of his head: ‘Belle mustn’t suffer. Belle must be 
spared, no matter what happens!’ 

“And that’s the one thing that reconciles me to 
keeping still a while longer. It was his wish to spare 
her, and if he could sacrifice so much to dc it, I can’t 
make his sacrifice seem in vain. I lay awake last 
night till nearly daylight, thinking how I’d like to 
take this old bell of mine, and go from one end of 
the town to the other, ringing it till if cracked, cry- 
ing out, ' Danny is innocent / to the whole world. 
But the time hasn’t come yet. I’ll have to be patient 
a while longer and bear up the best I can.” 

Georgina, gazing fixedly ahead of her at noth- 
ing in particular, pondered seriously for a long, si- 
lent moment. 

“If you did that,” she said finally, “cried the good 
news through the town till everybody knew — then 
when people found out that it was Emmett Potter 
who was the thief and that he was too much of a 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 247 

coward to own up and take the blame— would they 
let the monument go on standing there, that they’d 
put up to show he was brave? It would serve him 
right if they took it down, wouldn’t it !” she exclaimed 
with a savage little scowl drawing her brows to- 
gether. 

“No, no, child!” he said gently. “Give the lad 
his due. He was brave that one time. He saved all 
those lives as it is chiseled on his headstone. It is 
better he should be remembered for the best act in 
his life than for the worst one. A man’s measure 
should be taken when he’s stretched up to his full 
height, just as far as he can lift up his head; not 
when he’s stooped to the lowest. It’s only fair to 
judge either the living or the dead that way.” 

For some time after that nothing more was said. 
The harbor was full of boats this morning. It was 
a sight worth watching. One naturally drifted into 
day-dreams, following the sweep of the sails moving 
silently toward the far horizon. Georgina was busy 
picturing a home-coming scene that made the prodi- 
gal son’s welcome seem mild in comparison, when 
Uncle Darcy startled her by exclaiming: 

“Oh, it pays to bear up and steer right onward! 
S’pose I hadn’t done that. S’pose I hadn’t kept Hope 
at the prow. I believe I’d have been in my grave 
by this time with all the grief and worry. But 
now — ” 

He stopped and shook his head, unable to find 


248 Georgina of the Rainbows 

words to express the emotion which was making his 
voice tremble and his face glow with that wonder- 
ful inner shining. Georgina finished the sentence 
for him, looking out on the sail-filled harbor and 
thinking of the day he had taken her out in his boat 
to tell her of his son. 

“But now you’ll be all ready and waiting when 
your ship comes home from sea with its precious 
cargo.” They were his own words she was repeat- 
ing. 

“Danny’ll weather the storms at last and come 
into port with all flags flying.” 

The picture her words suggested was too much 
for the old father. He put his hat up in front of his 
face, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Geor- 
gina laid a sympathetic little hand on the rough 
sleeve next her. Suddenly the sails in the harbor 
seemed to run together all blurry and queer. She 
drew her hand across her eyes and looked again at 
the heaving shoulders. A happiness so deep that it 
found its expression that way, filled her with awe. 
It must be the kind of happiness that people felt 
when they reached “the shining shore, the other side 
of Jordan,” and their loved ones came down to wel- 
come them “into their desired haven.” 

That last phrase came to her lips like a bit of re- 
membered music and unconsciously she repeated it 
aloud. Uncle Darcy heard it, and looked up. His 
cheeks were wet when he put down his hat, but it 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 249 

was the happiest face she had ever seen, and there 
was no shake in his voice now when he said solemnly: 

“And nobody but the good Lord who’s helped his 
poor sailors through shipwreck and storm, knows 
how mightily they’ve desired that haven, or what it 
means to them to be brought into it.” 

A delivery wagon from one of the fruit stores 
stopped in front of the gate, and the driver came in, 
carrying a basket. Uncle Darcy spoke to him as he 
passed the willow tree. 

“Well, Joe, this looks like a chance for me to get 
a lift most of the way home.” 

“Sure,” was the cordial reply. “Climb in. I’ll be 
right back.” 

Georgina thought of something as he rose to go. 

“Oh, wait just a minute, Uncle Darcy, I want to 
get something of yours that’s down cellar.” 

When she came back there was no time or op- 
portunity for an explanation. He and the driver 
were both in the wagon. She reached up and put 
the bag on the seat beside him. 

“I — I did something to some of your eggs, yester- 
day,” she stammered, “and these are to take the 
j place of the ones I broke.” 

f Uncle Darcy peered into the bag with a puzzled 
expression. He had not missed any eggs from the 
crock of bran. He didn’t know what she was talk- 
ing about. But before he could ask any questions the 
driver slapped the horse with the reins, and they were 


250 Georgina of the Rainbows 

rattling off down street. Georgina stood looking 
after them a moment, then turned her head to lis- 
ten. Somebody was calling her. It was Belle, who 
had come to the front door to say that dinner was 
ready. 

Whenever Mrs. Triplett was at home, Belle made 
extra efforts to talk and appear interested in what 
was going on around her. She was afraid her keen- 
eyed Aunt Maria would see that she was unhappy. 
But alone with Georgina who shared her secret, she 
relapsed into a silence so deep it could be felt, re- 
sponding only with a wan smile when the child’s 
lively chatter seemed to force an answer of some 
kind. But to-day when Georgina came to the table 
she was strangely silent herself, so mute that Belle 
noticed it, and found that she was being furtively 
watched by the big brown eyes opposite her. Every 
time Belle looked up she caught Georgina’s gaze fast- 
ened on her, and each time it was immediately trans- 
ferred to her plate. 

“What’s the matter, Georgina?” she asked finally. 
“Why do you keep staring at me?” 

Georgina flushed guiltily. “Nothing,” was the 
embarrassed answer. “I was just wondering' 
whether to tell you or not. I thought maybe you’d 
like to know, and maybe you ought to know, but I 
wasn’t sure whether you’d want me to talk to you 
about it or not.” 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 251 

Belle put down her tea-cup. It was her turn to 
stare. 

“For goodness’ sake! What are you beating 
around the bush about?” 

“About the news from Danny,” answered Geor- 
gina. “About the letter he wrote to the wild-cat 
woman and that got buried in the dunes too deep 
ever to be dug up again.” 

As this was the first Belle had heard of either the 
letter or the woman, her expression of astonish- 
ment was all that Georgina could desire. Her news 
had made a sensation. Belle showed plainly that 
she was startled, and as eager to hear as Georgina 
was to tell. So she began at the beginning, from the 
time of the opening of the pouch on the Green 
Stairs, to the last word of the wild-cat woman’s con- 
versation which Uncle Darcy had repeated to her 
only a few moments before under the willow. 

Instinctively, she gave the recital a dramatic touch 
which made Belle feel almost like an eye witness as 
she listened. And it was with Uncle Darcy’s own 
gestures and manner that she repeated his final state- 
ment. 

“Jimmy Milford thought the liniment folks call- 
ing the boy Dave proved he wasn’t the same as my 
Danny. But just one thing would have settled all 
doubts for me if I’d had any. That was what he 
kept a calling in his fever when he was out of his 


2 £2 Georgina of the Rainbows 

head: * Belle mustn’t suffer. Belle must be spared 
no matter what happens.’ ” 

At the bringing of her own name into the story 
Belle gave a perceptible start and a tinge of red 
crept into her pale cheeks. 

“Did he say that, Georgina?” she demanded, lean- 
ing forward and looking at her intently. “Are you 
sure those are his exact words?” 

“His very-own-exactly-the-same words,” declared 
Georgina solemnly. “I cross my heart and body 
they’re just as Uncle Darcy told them to me.” 

Rising from the table, Belle walked over to the 
window and stood with her back to Georgina, look- 
ing out into the garden. 

“Well, and what next?” she demanded in a queer, 
breathless sort of way. 

“And then Uncle Darcy said that his saying that 
was the one thing that made him feel willing to keep 
still a while longer about — you know — what was in 
the rifle. ’Cause if Danny cared enough about spar- 
ing you to give up home and his good name and 
everything else in life he couldn’t spoil it all by tell- 
ing now. But Uncle Darcy said he lay awake nearly 
all last night thinking how he’d love to take that old 
bell of his and go ringing it through the town till it 
cracked, calling out to the world, ‘My boy is inno- 
cent.’ 

“And when I said something about it’s all coming 
out all right some day, and that Danny would 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 253 

weather the storms and come into port with all flags 

flying ” Here Georgina lowered her voice and 

went on slowly as if she hesitated to speak of what 
happened next — “he just put his old hat over his 

iface and cried. And I felt so sorry ” 

, Georgina’s voice choked. There were tears in he* 
eyes as she spoke of the scene. 

“Don’t!” groaned Belle, her back still turned. 

The note of distress in Belle’s voice stilled Geor- 
gina’s lively tongue a few seconds, but there was one 
more thing in her mind to be said, and with the per- 
sistence of a mosquito she returned to the subject to» 
give that final stab, quite unconscious of how deeply 
it would sting. She was only wondering aloud, some- 
thing which she had often wondered to herself. 

“I should think that when anybody had suffered 
as long as Danny has to spare you, it would make 
you want to spare him. Doesn’t it? I should think 
that you’d want to do something to sort of make up 
to him for it all. Don’t you?” 

“Oh, don’t!” exclaimed Belle again, sharply this 
time. Then to Georgina’s utter amazement she bur- 
ied her face in her apron, stood sobbing by the win- 
dow a moment, and ran out of the room. She did 
not come downstairs again until nearly supper time. 

Georgina sat at the table, not knowing what to 
do next. She felt that she had muddled things dread- 
fully. Instead of making Belle feel better as she 
hoped to do, she realized she had hurt her in some 


254 Georgina of the Rainbows 

unintentional way. Presently, she slowly drew her- 
self up from her chair and began to clear the table, 
piling the few dishes they had used, under the dish- 
pan in the sink. The house stood open to the sum- 
mer breeze. It seemed so desolate and deserted 
with Belle upstairs, drawn in alone with her troubles 
and Tippy away, that she couldn’t bear to stay in the 
silent rooms. She wandered out into the yard and 
climbed up into the willow to look across the water. 

Somewhere out there on those shining waves, 
Richard was sailing along, in the party given for 
Mr. Locke, and to-morrow he would be going away 
on the yacht. If he were at home she wouldn’t be 
up in the willow wondering what to do next. Well, 
as long as she couldn’t have a good time herself 
she’d think of someone else she could make happy. 
For several minutes she sent her thoughts wander- 
ing over the list of all the people she knew, but it 
seemed as if her friends were capable of making 
their own good times, all except poor Belle. Prob- 
ably she never would be happy again, no matter what 
anybody did to try to brighten her life. It was so 
discouraging when one was trying to play the game 
of “Rainbow Tag,” for there to be no one to tag. 
She wished she knew some needy person, some un- 
fortunate soul who would be glad of her efforts to 
make them happy. 

Once she thought of slipping off down street to 
the library. Miss Tupman always let her go in 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 255 

where the shelves were and choose her own book. 
Miss Tupman was always so interesting, too, more 
than any of the books when she had time to talk. 
But that grim old word Duty rose up in front of her, 
telling her that she ought not to run away and leave 
the house all open with Belle locked in her room up- 
stairs. Somebody ought to be within hearing if 
the telephone rang or anyone came. She went 
into the house for a book which she had read many 
times but which ne^er failed to interest her, and 
curled up in a big rocking chair on the front porch. 

Late in the afternoon she smelled burning pine 
chips and smoke from the kitchen chimney which 
told that a fire was being started in the stove. After 
a while she went around the house to the kitchen door 
and peeped in, apprehensively. Belle was piling the 
dinner dishes into the pan, preparatory to washing 
them while supper was cooking. Her eyes were red 
and she did not look up when Georgina came in, but 
there was an air of silent determination about her 
as forcible as her Aunt Maria’s. Picking up the 
tea-kettle, she filled the dishpan and carried the ket- 
tle back to the stove, setting it down hard before she 
spoke. Then she said: 

“Nobody’ll ever know what I’ve been through 
With, fighting this thing out with myself. I can’t go 
all the way yet. I can* t say the word that’ll let the 
blow fall on poor old Father Potter. But I don’t 
seem to care about my part of it any more. I see 


256 Georgina of the Rainbows 

things differently from what I did that first day — you 
know. Even Emmett don’t seem the same any 
more.” 

For several minutes there was a rattling of dishes, 
but no further speech from Belle. Georgina, not 
knowing what to say or do, stood poised uncertainly 
on the door-sill. Then Belle spoke again. 

“I’m willing it should be told if only it could be 
kept from getting back to Father Potter, for the 
way Dan’s done does make me want to set him square 
with the world. I would like to make up to him in 
some way for all he’s suffered on my account. I 
can’t get over it that it was him that had all the 
bravery and the nobleness that I was fairly worship- 
ing in Emmett all these years. Seems like the whole 
world has turned upside down.” 

Georgina waited a long time, but Belle seemed to 
have said all that she intended to say, so presently 
she walked over and stood beside the sink. 

“Belle,” she said slowly, “does what you said 
mean that you’re really willing I should tell Barby? 
Right away?” 

Belle waited an instant before replying, then tak- 
ing a deep breath as if about to make a desperate 
plunge into a chasm on whose brink she had long 
been poised, said : 

“Yes. Uncle Dan’l would rather have her know 
than anybody else. He sets such store by her good 
opinion. But oh, do make it plain it mustn’t be 


Light Dawns for Uncle Darcy 257 

talked about outside, so’s it’ll get back to Father 
Potter.” 

The next instant Georgina’s arms were around 
her in a silent but joyful squeeze, and she ran up- 
stairs to write to Barby before the sun should go 
down or Tippy get back from the Bazaar. 



CHAPTER XXIV 


A CONTRAST IN FATHERS 

f ^ EORGINA was having a beautiful day. It was 
the first time she had ever taken part in a Ba- 
zaar, and so important was the role assigned her 
that she was in a booth all by herself. Moreover, 
the little mahogany chair in which she sat was on a 
high platform inside the booth, so that all might be- 
hold her. Dressed in a quaint old costume borrowed 
from the chests in the Figurehead House, she rep- 
resented “A Little Girl of Long Ago.” 

On a table beside her stood other borrowed treas- 
ures from the Figurehead House — a doll bedstead 
made by an old sea captain on one of his voyages. 
Each of its high posts was tipped with a white point, 
carved from the bone of a whale. Wonderful little 
patchwork quilts, a feather bed and tiny pillows 
made especially for the bed, were objects of interest 
to everyone who crowded around the booth. So 
were the toys and dishes brought home from other 
long cruises by the same old sea captain, who evi- 
dently was an indulgent father and thought often 
of the little daughter left behind in the home port. 
A row of dolls dressed in fashions half a century old 
were also on exhibition. 


258 


A Contrast in Fathers 259 

With unfailing politeness Georgina explained to 
the curious summer people who thronged around 
her, that they all belonged in the house where the 
figurehead of Hope sat on the portico roof, and 
were not for sale at any price. 

Until to-day Georgina had been unconscious that * 
she possessed any unusual personal charms, except 
her curls. Her attention had been called to them 
from the time she was old enough to understand re- 
marks people made about them as she passed along 
the street. Their beauty would have been a great 
pleasure to her if Tippy had not impressed upon her 
the fact that looking in the mirror makes one vain, 
and it’s wicked to be vain. One way in which Tippy 
guarded her against the sin of vanity was to men- 
tion some of her bad points, such as her mouth being 
a trifle too large, or her nose not quite so shapely as 
her mother’s, each time anyone unwisely called at- 
tention to her “glorious hair.” 

Another way was to repeat a poem from a book 
called “Songs for the Little Ones at Home,” the 
same book which had furnished the “Landing of the 
Pilgrims” and “Try, Try Again.” It began: 

“What! Looking in the glass again? 

Why’s my silly child so vain?” 

The disgust, the surprise, the scorn of Tippy’s 
voice when she repeated that was enough to make 


2.6o Georgina of the Rainbows 

one hurry past a mirror in shame-faced embarrass- 
ment. 


“ Beauty soon will fade away. 

Your rosy cheeks must soon decay . 

There’s nothing lasting you will find , 

But the treasures of the mind.” 

Rosy cheeks might not be lasting, but it was cer= 
tainly pleasant to Georgina to hear them compli- 
mented so continually by passers-by. Sometimes the 
remarks were addressed directly to her. 

“My dear” said one enthusiastic admirer, “if I 
could only buy you and put you in a gold frame, I’d 
have a prettier picture than any artist in town can 
paint.” Then she turned to a companion to add: 

“Isn’t she a love in that little poke bonnet with 
the row of rose-buds inside the rim? I never saw 
such exquisite coloring or such gorgeous eyes.” 

Georgina blushed and looked confused as she 
smoothed the long lace mitts over her arms. But 
by the time the day was over she had heard the senti- 
ment repeated so many times that she began to ex- 
ipect it and to feel vaguely disappointed if it were 
not forthcoming from each new group which ap- 
proached her. 

Another thing gave her a new sense of pleasure 
and enriched her day. On the table beside her, under 


A Contrast in Fathers 261 

a glass case, to protect it from careless handling, 
was a little blank book which contained the records 
of the first sewing circle in Provincetown. The 
book lay open, displaying a page of the minutes, and 
a column of names of members, written in an ex- 
quisitely fine and beautiful hand. The name of - 
Georgina’s great-great grandmother was in that col- 
umn. It gave her a feeling of being well born and 
distinguished to be able to point it out. 

The little book seemed to reinforce and emphasize 
the claims of the monument and the silver porringer. 
She felt it was so nice to be beautiful and to belong; 
to have belonged from the beginning both to a first 
family and a first sewing circle. 

Still another thing added to her contentment when- 
ever the recollection of it came to her. There was 
no longer any secret looming up between her and 
Barby like a dreadful wall. The letter telling all 
about the wonderful and exciting things which had 
happened in her absence was already on its way to 
Kentucky. It was not a letter to be proud of. It 
was scrawled as fast as she could write it with a 
pencil, and she knew perfectly well that a dozen 
or more words were misspelled, but she couldn’t, 
take time to correct them, or to think of easy words 
to put in their places. But Barby wouldn’t care. 
She would be so happy for Uncle Darcy’s sake and 
so interested in knowing that her own little daughter 


262 Georgina of the Rainbows 

had had an important part in finding the good news 
that she wouldn’t notice the spelling or the scraggly 
writing. 

As the day wore on, Georgina, growing more and 
more satisfied with herself and her lot, felt that there 
was no one in the whole world with whom she would 
change places. Towards the last of the afternoon 
a group of people came in whom Georgina recog- 
nized as a family from the Gray Inn. They had 
been at the Inn several days, and she had noticed 
them each time she passed them, because the chil- 
dren seemed on such surprisingly intimate terms with 
their father. That he was a naval officer she knew 
from the way he dressed, and that he was on a long 
furlough she knew from some remark which she 
overheard. 

He had a grave, stern face, and when he came into 
the room he gave a searching glance from left to 
right as if to take notice of every object in it. His 
manner made Georgina think of “Casabianca,” an- 
other poem of Tippy’s teaching: 

“He stood 
As born to rule the storm. 

A creature of heroic blood t 
A brave though form ” 

“Childlike” was the word she left out because it 
did not fit in this case. “A brave and manlike form” 


A Contrast in Fathers 263 

would be better. She repeated the verse to herself 
with this alteration. 

When he spoke to his little daughter or she spoke 
to him his expression changed so wonderfully that 
Georgina watched him with deep interest. The old- 
est boy was with them. He was about fourteen and 
as tall as his mother. He was walking beside her 
but every few steps he turned to say something to 
the others, and they seemed to be enjoying some 
joke together. Somebody who knew them came up 
as they reached the booth of “The Little Girl of 
Long Ago,” and introduced them to Georgina, so 
she found out their names. It was Burrell. He 
was a Captain, and the children were Peggy and 
Bailey. 

As Georgina looked down at Peggy from the lit- 
tle platform where she sat in the old mahogany chair, 
she thought with a throb of satisfaction that she 
was glad she didn’t have to change places with that 
homely little thing. Evidently, Peggy was just up 
from a severe illness. Her hair had been cut so 
short one could scarcely tell the color of it. She 
was so thin and white that her eyes looked too large 
for her face and her neck too slender for her head, 
and the freckles which would scarcely have shown 
had she been her usual rosy self, stood out like big 
brown spotches on her pallid little face. She limped 
a trifle too, as she walked. 

With a satisfied consciousness of her own rose* 


264 Georgina of the Rainbows 

leaf complexion, Georgina was almost patronizing 
as she bent over the table to say graciously once more 
after countless number of times, “no, that is not for 
sale.” 

The next instant Peggy was swinging on her fath- 
er’s arm exclaiming, “Oh, Dad-o’-my-heart ! See that 
cunning doll bathing suit. Please get it for me.” 
Almost in the same breath Bailey, jogging the Cap- 
tain’s elbow on the other side, exclaimed, “Look, 
Partner, that’s a relic worth having.” 

Georgina listened, fascinated. To think of call- 
ing one’s father “Dad-o’-my-heart” or “Partner!” 
And they looked up at him as if they adored him, 
even that big boy, nearly grown. And a sort of 
laugh come into the Captain’s eyes each time they 
spoke to him, as if he thought everything they said 
and did was perfect. 

A wave of loneliness swept over Georgina as she 
listened. There was an empty spot in her heart that 
ached with longing — not for Barby, but for the 
father whom she had never known in this sweet inti- 
mate way. She knew now how it felt to be an or- 
phan. What satisfaction w^as there in having 
beautiful curls if no big, kind hand ever passed over 
them in a fatherly caress such as was passing over 
Peggy Burrell’s closely-clipped head? What pleas- 
ure was there in having people praise you if they 
said behind your back: 

“Oh, that’s Justin Huntingdon’s daughter. Don’t 


A Contrast in Fathers 265 

you think a man would want to come home once or 
twice in a lifetime to such a lovely child as that?” 

Georgina had heard that very remark earlier in 
the day, also the answer given with a significant shrug 
of the shoulders: 

“Oh, he has other fish to fry.” 

The remarks had not annoyed her especially at the 
time, but they rankled now as she recalled them. 
They hurt until they took all the pleasure and satis- 
faction out of her beautiful day, just as the sun, go- 
ing under a cloud, leaves the world bereft of all its 
shine and sparkle. She looked around, wishing it 
were time to go home. 

Presently, Captain Burrell, having made the 
rounds of the room, came back to Georgina. He 
smiled at her so warmly that she wondered that she 
could have thought his face was stern. 

“They tell me that you are Doctor Huntingdon’s 
little girl,” he said with a smile that went straight 
to her heart. “So I’ve come back to ask you all 
about him. Where is he now and how is he? You 
see I have an especial interest in your distinguished 
father. He pulled me through a fever in the Philip- 
> pines that all but ended me. I have reason to re- 
member him for his many, many kindnesses to me at 
that time.” 

The flush that rose to Georgina’s face might nat- 
urally have been taken for one of pride or pleasure, 
but it was only miserable embarrassment at not be- 


266 Georgina of the Rainbows 

ing able to answer the Captain’s questions. She 
could not bear to confess that she knew nothing of 
her father’s whereabouts except the vague fact that 
he was somewhere in the interior of China, and that 
there had been no letter from him for months and 
that she had not seen him for nearly four years. 

“He — he was well the last time we heard from 
him,” she managed to stammer. “But I haven’t 
heard anything lately. You know my mother isn’t 
home now. She went to Kentucky because my grand- 
father Shirley was hurt in an accident.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” was the answer in 
a cordial, sympathetic voice. “I hoped to have the 
pleasure of meeting her and I wanted Mrs. Burrell 
to know her, too. But I hope you’ll come over to 
the Inn and play with Peggy sometimes. We’ll be 
here another week.” 

Georgina thanked him in her prettiest manner, but 
she was relieved when he passed on, and she was 
freed from the fear of any more embarrassing ques- 
tions about her father. Yet her hand still tingled 
with the friendliness of his good-bye clasp, and she 
wished that she could know him better. As she 
watched him pass out of the door with Peggy hold- 
ing his hand and swinging it as they walked, she 
thought hungrily : 

“How good it must seem to have a father like 
t hat.” 

Mrs. Triplett came up to her soon after. It was 


A Contrast in Fathers 267 

time to close the Bazaar. The last probable cus- 
tomer had gone, and the ladies in charge of the 
booths were beginning to dismantle them. Some- 
f one’s chauffeur was waiting to take Georgina’s cos- 
,tume back to the Figurehead House. 

She followed Mrs. Triplett obediently into an 
improvised dressing-room in the corner, behind a 
tall screen, and in a very few minutes was about to 
emerge clad in her own clothes, when Mrs. Triplett 
exclaimed: 

“For pity sakes ! Those gold beads !” 

Georgina’s hand went up to the string of gold 
beads still around her neck. They also were bor- 
rowed from Mrs. Tupman of the Figurehead House. 

“I was going to ask Mrs. Tupman to take them 
home herself,” said Mrs. Triplett, “but she left 
earlier than I thought she would, and I had no chance 
to say anything about them. We oughtn’t to trust 
anything as valuable as gold beads that are an heir- 
loom to any outsider, no matter how honest. They 
might be lost. Suppose you just wear them home 
to her. Do you feel like doing that? And keep 
them on your neck till she unclasps them with her 
own hands. Don’t leave them with a servant.” 

Georgina, tired of sitting all day in the booth, was 
glad of an excuse for a long walk. It was almost 
six o’clock, but the sun was still high. As she went 
along, jostled off the narrow sidewalk and back on 
to it again every few steps by the good-natured crowd 


268 Georgina of the Rainbows 

which swarmed the streets at this hour, she could 
smell supper cooking in the houses along the way. 
It would be delayed in many homes because the tide 
was in and people were running down the beach 
from the various cottages for a dip into the sea. 
Some carried their bathing suits in bundles, some 
wore them under raincoats or dressing gowns, and 
some walked boldly along bare-armed and bare- 
legged in the suits themselves. 

It was a gay scene, with touches of color in every 
direction. Vivid green grass in all the door-yards, 
masses of roses and hollyhocks and clematis against 
the clean white of the houses. Color of every shade 
in the caps and sweaters and bathing suits and float- 
ing motor veils and parasols, jolly laughter every- 
where, and friendly voices calling back and forth 
across the street. It was a holiday town full of 
happy holiday people. 

Georgina, skipping along through the midst of it, 
added another pretty touch of color to the scene, with 
her blue ribbons and hat with the forget-me-nots 
around it, but if her thoughts could have been seen, 
they would have showed a sober drab. The meeting 
with Captain Burrell had left her depressed and 
unhappy. The thought uppermost in her mind was 
why should there be such a difference in fathers? 
Why should Peggy Burrell have such an adorable 
one, and she be left to feel like an orphan? 

When she reached the Figurehead House she was 


A Contrast in Fathers 269 

told that Mrs. Tupman had stepped out to a neigh- 
bor’s for a few minutes but would be right back. 
She could have left the beads with a member of the 
family, but having been told to deliver them into 
the hands of the owner only, she sat down in the 
swing in the yard to wait. 

From where she sat she could look up at the 
figurehead over the portico. It was the best oppor- 
tunity she had ever had for studying it closely. Al- 
ways before she had been limited to the few seconds 
that were hers in walking or driving by. Now she 
could sit and gaze at it intently as she pleased. 

The fact that it was weather-stained and dark as 
an Indian with the paint worn off its face in patches, 
only enhanced its interest in her eyes. It seemed 
to bear the scars of one who has suffered and come 
up through great tribulation. No matter how bat- 
tered this Lady of Mystery was in appearance, to 
Georgina she still stood for “Hope,” clinging to her 
wreath, still facing the future with head held high, 
the symbol of all those, who having ships at sea, 
watch and wait for their home-coming with proud, 
undaunted courage. 

Only an old wooden image, but out of a past of 
shipwreck and storm its message survived and in 
some subtle manner found its way into the heart of 
Georgina. 

“And I’ll do it, too,” she resolved valiantly, look- 
ing up at it. “I’m going to hope so hard that he’ll 


270 Georgina of the Rainbows 

be the way I want him to be, that he’ll just have to. 
And if he isn’t — then I’ll just steer straight onward 
as if I didn’t mind it, so Barby’ll never know how 
disappointed I am. Barby must never know that.” 

A few minutes later, the gold beads being deliv- 
ered into Mrs. Tupman’s own hands, Georgina took 
her way homeward, considerably lighter of heart, 
for those moments of reflection in the swing. As 
she passed the antique shop a great gray cat on the 
door-step, rose and stretched itself. 

“Nice kitty!” she said, stopping to smooth the 
thick fur which stood up as he arched his back. 

It was “Grandpa,” to whose taste for fish she 
owed her prism and the bit of philosophy which was 
to brighten not only her own life but all those which 
touched hers. But she passed on, unconscious of her 
debt to him. 

When she reached the Gray Inn she walked more 
slowly, for on the beach back of it she saw several 
people whom she recognized. Captain Burrell was 
in the water with Peggy and Bailey and half a dozen 
other children from the Inn. They were all splash- 
ing and laughing. They seemed to be having some 
* sort of a game. She stood a moment wishing that 
/ she had on her bathing suit and was down in the 
water with them. She could swim better than any 
of the children there. But she hadn’t been in the 
sea since Barby left. That was one of the things 


A Contrast in Fathers 271 

she promised in their dark hour of parting, not to 
go in while Barby was gone. 

While she stood there, Mrs. Burrell came out on 
the piazza of the Inn, followed by the colored nurse 
with the baby who was just learning to walk. The 
Captain, seeing them, threw up his hand to signal 
them. Mrs. Burrell fluttered her handkerchief in 
reply. 

Georgina watched the group in the water a mo- 
ment longer, then turned and walked slowly on. She 
felt that if she could do it without having to give up 
Barby, she’d be willing to change places with Peggy 
Burrell. She’d take her homely little pale, freckled 
face, straight hair and — yes, even her limp, for the 
right to cling to that strong protecting shoulder as 
Peggy was doing there in the water, and to whisper 
in his ear, “Dad-o-my-heart.” 



CHAPTER XXV 


A LETTER TO HONG-KONG 
HERE are some subjects one hesitates to dis* 



cuss with one’s family. It is easier to seek 
information from strangers or servants, who do not 
feel free to come back at you with the disconcerting 
question, “But why do you ask?” 

It was with the half-formed resolution of leading 
up to a certain one of these difficult subjects if she 
could, that Georgina wandered down the beach next 
morning to a little pavilion near the Gray Inn. It 
was occupied by Peggy Burrell, her baby brother and 
the colored nurse Melindy. 

Georgina, sorely wanting companionship now that 
Richard and Captain Kidd were off on their yacht- 
ing trip, was thankful that Mrs. Triplett had met 
Captain Burrell the day before at the Bazaar, and 
had agreed with him that Georgina and Peggy ought 
to be friends because their fathers were. Otherwise, 
the occupants of the pavilion would have been 
counted as undesirable playmates being outside the 
pale of her acquaintance. 

Peggy welcomed her joyfully. She wasn’t strong 
enough yet to go off on a whole morning’s fishing 
trip with brother and Daddy, she told Georgina, and 
her mother was playing bridge on the hotel piazza. 
Peggy was a little thing, only eight, and Georgina 


A Letter to Hong-Kong 273 

not knowing what to do to entertain her, resurrected 
an old play that she had not thought of for several 
summers. She built Grandfather Shirley’s house in 
the sand. 

It took so long to find the right kind of shells 
with which to make the lanterns for the gate-posts, 
and to gather the twigs of bayberry and beach plum 
for the avenues (she had to go into the dunes for 
them), that the question she was intending to ask 
Melindy slipped from her mind for a while. It 
came back to her, however, as she scooped a place 
in the wall of pebbles and wet sand which stood for 
the fence. 

“Here’s the place where the postman drops the 
mail.” 

Then she looked up at Melindy, the question on 
the tip of her tongue. But Peggy, on her knees, was 
watching her so intently that she seemed to be look- 
ing straight into her mouth every time it opened, 
and her courage failed her. Instead of saying what 
she had started to say, she exclaimed: 

“Here’s the hole in the fence where the little pigs 
squeezed through.” Then she told the story that 
* went with this part of the game. When it was time 
to put in the bee-hives, however, and Peggy volun- 
teered to look up and down the beach for the right 
kind of a pebble to set the bee-hives on, Georgina 
took advantage of the moment alone with Melindy. 
There wasn’t time to lead up to the question prop- 


274 Georgina of the Rainbows 

erly. There wasn’t even time to frame the question 
in such a way that it would seem a casual, matter- 
of-course one. Georgina was conscious that the 
blood was surging up into her cheeks until they must 
seem as red as fire. She leaned forward toward the 
sand-pile she was shaping till her curls fell over her 
face. Then she blurted out: 

“How often do husbands write to wives?” 

Melindy either did not hear or did not under- 
stand, and Georgina had the mortifying experience 
of repeating the question. It was harder to give 
utterance to it the second time than the first. She 
was relieved when Melindy answered without show- 
ing any surprise. 

“Why, most every week I reckon, when they 
loves ’em. Leastways white folks do. It comes easy 
to them to write. An’ I lived in one place where the 
lady got a lettah every othah day.” 

“But I mean when the husband’s gone for a long, 
long time, off to sea or to another country, and is 
dreadfully busy, like Captain Burrell is when he’s 
on his ship.” 

Melindy gave a short laugh. “Huh ! Let me tell 
you, honey, when a man wants to write he’s gwine 
to write, busy or no busy,” 

Later, Georgina went home pondering Melindy’s 
answer. “Most every week when they love’s ’em. 
Sometimes every other day.” And Barby had had 
no letter for over four months. 


A Letter to Hong-Kong 275 

Something happened that afternoon which had 
never happened before in all Georgina’s experience. 
She was taken to the Gray Inn to call. Mrs. Trip- 
lett, dressed in her new black summer silk, took her. 

“As long as Barbara isn’t here to pay some at-; 
tention to that Mrs. Burrell,” Tippy said to Belle, 
“it seems to me it’s my place as next of kin. The 
Captain couldn’t get done saying nice things about 
Justin.” 

Evidently, she approved of both Mrs. Burrell and 
Peggy, for when each begged that Georgina be al- 
lowed to stay to supper she graciously gave per- 
mission. 

“Peggy has taken the wildest fancy to you, dear,” 
Mrs. Burrell said in an aside to Georgina. “You 
gave her a beautiful morning on the beach. The 
poor little thing has suffered so much with her lame 
knee, that we are grateful to anyone who makes her 
forget all that she has gone through. It’s only last 
week that she could have the brace taken off. She 
hasn’t been able to run and play like other children 
for two years, but we’re hoping she may outgrow the 
trouble in time.” 

The dining-room of the Gray Inn overlooked the 
sea, and was so close to the water one had the feel- 
ing of being in a boat, when looking out of its win- 
dows. There were two South American transports 
in the harbor. Some of the officers had come ashore 
and were dining with friends at the Gray Inn. Af- 


276 Georgina of the Rainbows 

terwards they stayed to dance a while in the long 
parlor with the young ladies of the party. 

Peggy and Georgina sat on the piazza just out- 
side one of the long French windows, where they 
could watch the gay scene inside. It seemed almost 
as gay outside, when one turned to look across the 
harbor filled with moving lights. Captain and Mrs. 
Burrell were outside also. They sat farther down 
the piazza, near the railing, talking to one of the 
officers who was not dancing. Once when the music 
stopped, Peggy turned to Georgina to say: 

“Do you hear Daddy speaking Spanish to that 
officer from South America? Doesn’t he do it well? 
I can understand a little of what they say because 
we lived in South America a while last year. We 
join him whenever he is stationed at a port where 
officers can take their families. He says that chil- 
dren of the navy have to learn to be regular gypsies. 
I love going to new places. How many languages 
can your father speak?” 

Georgina, thus suddenly questioned, felt that she 
would rather die than acknowledge that she knew so 
little of her father that she could not answer. She 
was saved the mortification of confessing it, however, 
by the music striking up again at that moment. 

“Oh, I can play that!” she exclaimed. “That’s 
the dance of the tarantula. Isn’t it a weird sort of 
thing?” 


A Letter to Hong-Kong 277 

The air of absorbed interest with which Georgina 
turned to listen to the music made Peggy forget her 
question, and listen in the same way. She wanted 
to do everything in the same way that Georgina did 
it, and from that moment that piece of music held f 
special charm for her because Georgina called it 
weird. 

The next time Georgina glanced down the piazza 
Mrs. Burrell was alone. In her dimly-lighted cor- 
ner, she looked like one of the pretty summer girls 
one sees sometimes on a magazine cover. She was 
all in white with a pale blue wrap of some kind about 
her that was so soft and fleecy it looked like a pale 
blue cloud. Georgina found herself looking down 
that way often, with admiring glances. She happened 
to have her eyes turned that way when the Captain 
came back and stood beside her chair. The blue 
wrap had slipped from her shoulders without her 
notice, and he stooped and picked it up. Then he 
drew the soft, warm thing up around her, and bend- 
ing over, laid his cheek for just an instant against 
hers. 

It was such a fleeting little caress that no one saw 
;t but Georgina, and she turned her eyes away in- 
stantly, feeling that she had no right to look, yet 
glad that she had seen, because of the warm glow 
it sent through her. She couldn’t tell why, but some- 
how the world seemed a happier sort of place for 
everybody because such things happened in it. 


278 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“I wonder,” she thought wistfully, as her eyes 
followed the graceful steps of the foreign dancers 
and her thoughts stayed with what she had just 
witnessed, “I wonder if that had been Barby and my 
father, would lie?” 

But she did not finish even to herself the question 
which rose up to worry her. It came back every 
time she recalled the little scene. 

On the morning after her visit to the Gray Inn 
she climbed up on the piano stool when she had fin- 
ished practising her scales. She wanted a closer 
view of the portrait which hung over it. It was an 
oil painting of her father at the age of five. He 
wore kilts and little socks with plaid tops, and he 
carried a white rabbit in his arms. Georgina knew 
every inch of the canvas, having admired it from the 
time she was first held up to it in someone’s arms to 
“see the pretty bunny.” Now she looked at it long 
and searchingly. 

Then she opened the book-case and took out an 
old photograph album. There were several pictures 
of her father in that. One taken with his High 
School class, and one with a group of young medical 
students, and one in the white service dress of an 
assistant surgeon of the navy. None of them cor- 
responded with her dim memory of him. 

Then she went upstairs to Barby’s room, and stood 
before the bureau, studying the picture upon it in 
a large silver frame. It was taken in a standing 


A Letter to Hong-Kong 279 

position and had been carefully colored, so that she 
knew accurately every detail of the dress uniform 
of a naval surgeon from the stripes of gold lace and 
maroon velvet on the sleeves, to the eagle on the belt 
I buckle and the sword knot dangling over the scab- 
bard. There were various medals pinned on his 
breast which had always interested her. 

But this morning it was not the uniform or the 
decorations which claimed her attention. It was the 
face itself. She was looking for something in the 
depths of those serious dark eyes, that she had seen 
in Captain Burrell’s when he looked at Peggy; some- 
thing more than a smile, something that made his 
whole face light up till you felt warm and happy just 
to look at him. She wondered if the closely-set 
lips she was studying could curve into a welcoming 
smile if anybody ran to meet him with happy out- 
stretched arms. But the picture was baffling and dis- 
appointing, because it was a profile view. 

Presently, she picked it up and carried it to her 
own room, placing it on the table where she always 
sat to write. She had screwed up her courage at 
last, to the point of writing the letter which long 
| ago she had decided ought to be written by some- 
body. 

Once Barby said, “When you can’t think of any- 
thing to put in a letter, look at the person’s picture, 
and pretend you’re talking to it.” Georgina fol- 
lowed that advice now. But one cannot talk en- 


280 Georgina of the Rainbows 

thusiastically to a listener who continues to show 
you only his profile. 

Suddenly, her resentment flamed hot against this 
handsome, averted face which was all she knew of a 
father. She thought bitterly that he had no busi- 
ness to be such a stranger to her that she didn’t even 
know what he looked like when he smiled. Some- 
thing of the sternness of her old Pilgrim forbears 
crept into her soul as she sat there judging him and 
biting the end of her pen. She glanced down at 
the sheet of paper on which she had painstakingly 
written “Dear Father.” Then she scratched out 
the words, feeling she could not honestly call him 
that when he was such a stranger. Taking a clean 
sheet of paper, she wrote even more painstakingly: 

“Dear Sir: There are two reesons ” 

Then she looked up in doubt about the spelling 
of that last word. She might have gone downstairs 
and consulted the dictionary but her experience had 
proved that a dictionary is an unsatisfactory book 
when one does not know how to spell a word. It is 
by mere chance that what one is looking for can be 
found. After thinking a moment she put her head 
out of the window and called softly down to Belle, 
who was sewing on the side porch. She called softly 
so that Tippy could not hear and answer and maybe 
add the remark, “But why do you ask? Are you 
writing to your mother?” 

Belle spelled the word for her, and taking another 


A Letter to Hong-Kong 281 

sheet of paper Georgina made a fresh start. This 
time she did not hesitate over the spelling, but scrib- 
bled recklessly on until all that was crowding up 
to be said was on the paper. 

4 “Dear Sir: There are two reasons for writing 
i this. One is about your wife. Cousin Mehitable 
says something is eating her heart out, and I thought 
you ought to know. Maybe as you can cure so many 
strange diseeses you can do something for her. The 
other is to ask you to send us another picture of 
yourself. The only ones we have of you are look- 
ing off sideways, and I can’t feel as well acquainted 
with you as if I could look into your eyes. 

“There is a lovely father staying at the Gray Inn. 
He is Peggy Burrell’s. He is a naval officer, too. 
It makes me feel like an orfan when I see him going 
down the street holding her hand. He asked me to 
tell him all about where you are and what you are 
doing, because you cured him once on a hospital 
ship, and I was ashamed to tell him that I didn’t 
know because Barby has not had a letter from you 
for over four months. Please don’t let on to her 
that I wrote this. She doesn’t know that I was 
under the bed when Cousin Mehitable was talking 
about you, and saying that everybody thinks it is 
queer you never come home. If you can do only 
one of the things I asked, please do the first one. 
Tours truly, Georgina Huntingdon.” 

Having blotted the letter, Georgina read it over 


282 Georgina of the Rainbows 

carefully, finding two words that did not look quite 
right, although she did not know what was the mat- 
ter with them. So she called softly out of the win- 
dow again to Belle : 

“How do you spell diseases?” 

Belle told her but added the question, “Why do 
you ask a word like that? Whose diseases can you 
be writing about?” 

Georgina drew in her head without answering. 
She could not seek help in that quarter again, espe- 
cially for such a w T ord as “orfan.” After studying 
over it a moment she remembered there was a poem 
in “Songs for the Little Ones at Home,” called “The 
Orphan Nosegay Girl.” 

A trip downstairs for the tattered volume gave 
her the word she wanted, and soon the misspelled 
one was scratched out and rewritten. There were 
now three unsightly blots on the letter and she hov- 
ered over them a moment, her pride demanding that 
she should make a clean, fair copy. But it seemed 
such an endless task to rewrite it from beginning to 
end, that she finally decided to send it as it stood. 

Addressed, stamped and sealed, it was ready at> 
last and she dropped it into the mail-box. Then 
she had a moment of panic. It was actually started 
on its way to Hong-Kong and nothing in her power 
could stop it or bring it back. She wondered if she 
hadn’t done exactly the wrong thing, and made a 
bad matter worse. 


CHAPTER XXVI 

PEGGY JOINS THE RAINBOW-MAKERS 


/^%NLY one more thing happened before Barby’s 
return that is worth recording. Georgina went 
to spend the way at the Gray Inn. Captain Burrell, 
himself, came to ask her. Peggy had to be put back 
into her brace again he said. He was afraid it had 
been taken off too soon. She was very uncomfort- 
able and unhappy on account of it. They would be 
leaving in the morning, much, earlier than they had 
intended, because it was necessary for her physician 
to see her at once, and quite probable that she would 
have to go back to the sanitarium for a while. She 
didn’t want to leave Provincetown, because she did 
not want to go away from Georgina. 

“You have no idea how she admires you,” the 
Captain added, “or how she tries to copy you. Her 
dream of perfect happiness is to look and act just 
4 like you. Yesterday she made her mother tie a big 
j pink bow on her poor little cropped head because 
you passed by wearing one on your curls. You can 
chejr her up more than anyone else in the world.” 

So Georgina, touched both by the Captain’s evi- 
dent distress over Peggy’s returning lameness, and 
w 283 


284 Georgina of the Rainbows 

Peggy’s fondness for her, went gladly. The knowl- 
edge that everything she said and did was admired, 
made it easy for her to entertain the child, and the 
pity that welled up in her heart every time she 
watched the thin little body move around in the tire- 
some brace, made her long to do something that 
would really ease the burden of such a misfortune. 

Mrs. Burrell was busy packing all morning, and 
in the afternoon went down the street to do some 
shopping that their hurried departure made neces- 
sary. Peggy brought out her post-card album, in 
which to fasten all the postals she had added to her 
collection while on the Cape. Among them was one 
of the Figurehead House, showing “Hope” perched 
over the portico. 

“Bailey says that’s a sea-cook,” Peggy explained 
gravely. “A sea-cook who was such a wooden-head 
that when he made doughnuts they turned green. 
He’s got one in his hand that he’s about to heave 
into the sea.” 

“Oh, horrors ! No !” exclaimed Georgina, as scan- 
dalized as if some false report had been circulated 
about one of her family. 

“That is Hope with a wreath in her hand, look- 
ing up with her head held high, just as she did when 
she was on the prow of a gallant ship. Whenever 
I have any trouble or disappointment I think of her, 
and she helps me to bear up and be brave, and go 
on as if nothing had happened.” 


Peggy Joins the Rainbow-Makers 285 

“How?” asked Peggy, gazing with wondering 
eyes at the picture of the figurehead, which was too 
small on the postal to be very distinct. Anything 
that Georgina respected and admired so deeply, 
Peggy wanted to respect and admire in the same 
way, but it was puzzling to understand just what it 
was that Georgina saw in that wooden figure to make 
her feel so. Accustomed to thinking of it in Bailey’s 
way, as a sea-cook with a doughnut, it was hard to 
switch around to a point of view that showed it as 
Hope with a wreath, or to understand how it could 
help one to be brave about anything. 

Something of her bewilderment crept into the 
wondering “why,” and Georgina hesitated, a bit puz- 
zled herself. It was hard to explain to a child two 
years younger what had been taught to her by the 
old Towncrier. 

“You wait till I run home and get my prism,” 
she answered. “Then I can show you right away, 
and we can play a new kind of tag game with it.” 

Before Peggy could protest that she would rather 
have her question unanswered than be left alone, 
Georgina was off and running up the beach as fast 
as her little white shoes could carry her. Her cheeks 
were as red as the coral necklace she wore, when she 
came back breathless from her flying trip. 

There followed a few moments of rapture for 
Peggy, when the beautiful crystal pendant was placed 
in her own hands, and she looked through it into a 


286 Georgina of the Rainbows 

world transformed by the magic of its coloring. 
She saw the room changed in a twinkling, as when 
a fairy wand transforms a mantle of homespun to 
cloth-of-gold. Through the open window she saw 
an enchanted harbor filled with a fleet of rainbows. 
Every sail was outlined with one, every mast edged 
with lines of red and gold and blue. And while she 
looked, and at the same time listened, Georgina’s 
explanation caught some of the same glamor, and 
sank deep into her tender little heart. 

That was the way that she could change the world 
for people she loved — put a rainbow around their 
troubles by being so cheery and hopeful that every- 
thing would be brighter just because she was there. 
To keep Hope at the prow simply meant that she 
mustn’t get discouraged about her knee. No mat- 
ter how much it hurt her or the brace bothered her, 
she must bear up and steer right on. To do that 
bravely, without any fretting, was the surest way in 
the world to put a rainbow around her father’s 
troubles. 

Thus Georgina mixed her “line to live by” and her 
prism philosophy, but it was clear enough to the 
child who listened with heart as well as ears. And 
clear enough to the man who sat just outside the 
open window on the upper porch, with his pipe, lis- 
tening also as he gazed off to sea. 

“The poor little lamb,” he said to himself. “To 


Peggy Joins the Rainbow-Makers 287 

think of that baby trying to bear up and be brave on 
my account! It breaks me all up.” 

A few minutes later as he started across the hall, 
Peggy, seeing him pass her door, called to him. 

“Oh, Daddy! Come look through this wonder- 
ful fairy glass. You’ll think the whole world is be- 
witched.” 

She was lying back in a long steamer chair, and im- 
patient to reach him, she started to climb out as he 
entered the room. But she had not grown accus- 
tomed to the brace again, and she stumbled clumsily 
on account of it. He caught her just in time to save 
her from falling, but the prism, the shining crystal 
pendant, dropped from her hands and struck the 
rocker of a chair in its fall to the floor. 

She gave a frightened cry, and stood holding her 
breath while Georgina stooped and picked it up. 
It was in two pieces now. The long, radiant point, 
cut in many facets like a diamond, was broken off. 

Georgina, pale and trembling at this sudden de- 
struction of her greatest treasure, turned her back, 
and for one horrible moment it was all she could do 
to keep from bursting out crying. Peggy, seeing her 
turn away and realizing all that her awkwardness 
was costing Georgina, buried her face on her father’s 
shoulder and went into such a wild paroxysm of sob- 
bing and crying that all his comforting failed to com* 
fort her. 


238 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Oh, I wish I’d died first,” she wailed. “She’ll 
never love me again. She said it was her most pre- 
cious treasure, and now I’ve broken it ” 

“There, there, there,” soothed the Captain, pat- 
ting the thin little arm reached up to cling around 
his neck. “Georgina knows it was an accident. She’s 
going to forgive my poor little Peggykins for what 
she couldn’t help. She doesn’t mind its being broken 
as much as you think.” 

He looked across at Georgina, appealingly, help- 
lessly. Peggy’s grief was so uncontrollable he was 
growing alarmed. Georgina wanted to cry out: 

“Oh, I do mind! How can you say that? I can’t 
stand it to have my beautiful, beautiful prism 
ruined!” 

She was only a little girl herself, with no comfort- 
ing shoulder to run to. But something came to her 
help just then. She remembered the old silver por- 
ringer with its tall, slim-looped letters. She remem- 
bered there were some things she could not do. She 
had to be brave now, because her name had been 
written around that shining rim through so many 
brave generations. She could not deepen the hurt of 
this poor little thing already nearly frantic over what 
she had done. Tippy’s early lessons carried her 
gallantly through now. She ran across the room to 
where Peggy sat on her father’s knee, and put an 
arm around her. 

“Listen, Peggy,” she said brightly. “There’s a 


Peggy Joins the Rainbow-Makers 289 

piece of prism for each of us now. Isn’t that nice? 
You take one and I’ll keep the other, and that will 
make you a member of our club. We call it the 
Rainbow Club, and we’re running a race seeing who 
can make the most bright spots in the world, by mak- 
ing people happy. There’s just four members in it 
so far; Richard and me and the president of the 
bank and Mr. Locke, the artist, who made the pic- 
tures in your blue and gold fairy-tale book. And 
you can be the fifth. But you’ll have to begin this 
minute by stopping your crying, or you can’t belong 
What did I tell you about fretting?” 

And Peggy stopped. Not instantly, she couldn’t 
do that after such a hard spell. The big sobs kept 
jerking her for a few minutes no matter how hard 
she tried to stiffle them; but she sat up and let her 
father wipe her face on his big handkerchief, and 
she smiled her bravest, to show that she was worthy 
of membership in the new club. 

The Captain suddenly drew Georgina to his other 
knee and kissed her. 

“You blessed little rainbow maker !” he exclaimed. 
“I’d like to join your club myself. What a happy 
world this would be if everybody belonged to it.” 

Peggy clasped her hands together beseechingly. 

“Oh, please let him belong, Georgina. I’ll lend 
him my piece of prism half the time.” 

“Of course he can,” consented Georgina. “But he 
can belong without having a prism. Grown people 


2go Georgina of the Rainbows 

don’t need anything to help them remember about 
making good times in the world.” 

“I wonder,” said the Captain, as if he were talk- 
ing to himself. Georgina, looking at him shyly from 
the corner of her eye, wondered what it was he won- 
dered. 

It was almost supper time when she went home. 
She had kept the upper half of the prism which had 
the hole in it, and it dangled from her neck on the 
pink ribbon as she walked. 

“If only Barby could have seen it first,” she 
mourned. “I wouldn’t mind it so much. But she’ll 
never know how beautiful it was.” 

But every time that thought came to her it was 
followed by a recollection which made her tingle 
with happiness. It was the Captain’s deep voice say- 
ing tenderly, “You blessed little rainbow-maker!” 



CHAPTER XXVII 


A MODERN “ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON” 

ID ARB Y was at home again. Georgina, hearing 
the jangle of a bell, ran down the street to meet 
the old Towncrier with the news. She knew now, 
how he felt when he wanted to go through the town 
ringing his bell and calling out the good tidings 
about his Danny to all the world. That’s the way 
she felt her mother’s home-coming ought to be pro- 
claimed. It was such a joyful thing to have her back 
again. 

And Grandfather Shirley wasn’t going to be blind, 
Georgina confided in her next breath. The sight of 
both eyes would be all right in time. They were so 
thankful about that. And Barby had brought her 
the darlingest little pink silk parasol ever made or 
dreamed of, all the way from Louisville, and some 
beaten biscuit and a comb of honey from the bee- 
hives in her old home garden. 

It was wonderful how much news Georgina man- 
aged to crowd into the short time that it took to 
walk back to the gate. The Burrells had left towr 
and Belle had gone home, and Richard had sent her 
a postal card from Bar Harbor with a snapshot of 
himself and Captain Kidd on it. And — she low- 
291 


292 Georgina of the Rainbows 

ered her voice almost to a whisper as she told the 
next item: 

“Barby knows about Danny! Belle said I might 
tell her if she’d promise not to let it get back to Mr. 
Potter.” 

They had reached the house by this time, and 
Georgina led him in to Barby who rose to welcome 
him with both hands outstretched. 

“Oh, Uncle Darcy,” she exclaimed. “I know — 
and I’m so glad. And Justin will be, too. I sent 
Georgina’s letter to him the very day it came. I 
knew he’d be so interested, and it can 'do no harm 
for him to know, away off there in the interior of 
China.” 

Georgina was startled, remembering the letter 
which she had sent to the interior of China. Surely 
her father wouldn’t send that back to Barby! Such 
a panic seized her at the bare possibility of such a 
thing, that she did not hear Uncle Darcy’s reply. 
She wondered what Barby would say if it should 
come back to her. Then she recalled what had hap- 
pened the first few moments of Barby’s return and 
wondered what made her think of it. 

Barby’s first act on coming into the house, was 
to walk over to the old secretary where the mail 
was always laid, and look to see if any letters were 
waiting there for her. And that was before she 
had even stopped to take off her veil or gloves. 
There were three which had arrived that morning, 


A Modern Cf St. George and the Dragon” 293 

but she only glanced at them and tossed them aside. 
The one she wanted wasn’t there. Georgina had 
turned away and pretended that she wasn’t watch- 
ing, but she was, and for a moment she felt that 
the sun had gone behind a cloud, Barby looked 
so disappointed. ( 

But it was only for a moment, for Barby im- 
mediately began to tell about an amusing experience 
she had had on her way home, and started upstairs 
to take off her hat, with Georgina tagging after to 
ask a thousand questions, just as she had been tag- 
ging ever since. 

And later she had thrown her arms around her 
mother, exclaiming as she held her fast, “You haven’t 
changed a single bit, Barby,” and Barby answered 
gaily: 

“What did you expect, dearest, in a few short 
weeks? White hair and spectacles?” 

“But it doesn’t seem like a few short weeks,” 
sighed Georgina. “It seems as if years full of things 
had happened, and that I’m as old as you are.” 

Now as Uncle Darcy recounted some of these 
happenings, and Barby realized how many strange 
experiences Georgina had lived through during her 
absence, how many new acquaintances she had made 
and how much she had been allowed to go about 
by herself, she understood why the child felt so 
much older. She understood still better that night 
as she sat brushing Georgina’s curls. The little girl 


294 Georgina of the Rainbows 

on the footstool at her knee was beginning to reach 
up — was beginning to ask questions about the strange 
grown-up world whose sayings and doings are al- 
ways so puzzling to little heads. 

“Barby,” she asked hesitatingly, “what do peo- 
ple mean exactly, when they say they have other 
fish to fry?” 

“Oh, just other business to attend to or something 
else they’d rather do.” 

“But when they shrug their shoulders at the same 
time,” persisted Georgina. 

“A shrug can stand for almost anything,” an- 
swered Barby. “Sometimes it says meaner things 
than words can convey.” 

Then came the inevitable question which made 
Georgina wish that she had not spoken. 

“But why do you ask, dear? Tell me how the ex- 
pression was used, and I can explain better.” 

Now Georgina could not understand why she had 
brought up the subject. It had been uppermost in 
her mind all evening, but every time it reached the 
tip of her tongue she drove it back. That is, until 
this last time. Then it seemed to say itself. Having 
gone this far she could not lightly change the sub- 
ject as an older person might have done. Barby 
was waiting for an answer. It came in a moment, 
halting but truthful. 

“That day I was at the Bazaar, you know, and 
everybody was saying how nice I looked, dressed 


A Modern “St. George and the Dragon” 295 

up like a little girl of long ago, I heard Mrs. Whit- 
man say to Miss Minnis that one would think that 
Justin Huntingdon would want to come home once 
or twice in a lifetime to see me; and Miss Minnis 
shrugged her shoulders, this way, and said: 

“ ‘Oh, he has other fish to fry.’ ” 

Georgina, with her usual aptitude for mimicry, 
made the shrug so eloquent that Barby understood 
exactly what Miss Minnis intended to convey, and 
what it had meant to the wondering child. 

“Miss Minnis is an old cat!” she exclaimed im- 
patiently. Then she laid down the brush, and gath- 
ering Georgina’s curls into one *hand, turned her 
head so that she could look into the troubled little 
face. 

“Tell me, Baby,” she demanded. “Have you 
heard anyone else say things like that?” 

“Yes,” admitted Georgina, “several times. And 
yesterday a woman who came into the bakery while 
I was getting the rolls Tippy sent me for, asked me 
if I was Doctor Huntingdon’s little girl. And when 
I said yes, she asked me when he was coming home.” 

“And what did you say?” 

“Well, I thought she hadn’t any right to ask, spe- 
cially in the way she made her question sound. She 
doesn’t belong in this town, anyhow. She’s only one 
of the summer boarders. So I drew myself up the 
way the Duchess always did in ‘The Fortunes of 
Romney Tower.’ Don’t you remember? and I 


296 Georgina of the Rainbows 

said, ‘It will probably be some time, Madam.’ Then 
I took up my bag of hot rolls and marched out. I 
think that word Madam always sounds so freezing, 
when you say it the way the Duchess was always do- 
ing” . . . \ 

“Oh, you ridiculous baby!” exclaimed Barby, 
clasping her close and kissing her again and again. 
Then seeing the trouble still lingering in the big 
brown eyes, she took the little face between her hands 
and looked into it long and intently, as if reading 
her thoughts. 

“Georgina,” she said presently, “I understand 
now, what is the matter. You’re wondering the same 
thing about your father that these busybodies are. 
It’s my fault though. I took it for granted that 
you understood about his long absence. I never 
dreamed that it was hurting you in any way.” 

Georgina hid her face in Barby’s lap, her silence 
proof enough that her mother had guessed aright. 
For a moment or two Barby’s hand strayed caress- 
ingly over the bowed head. Then she said : 

“I wonder if you remember this old story I used 
to tell you, beginning, ‘St. George of Merry Eng- 
land was the youngest and the bravest of the seven 
champions of Christendom. Clad in bright armor 
with his magic sword Ascalon by his side, he used 
to travel on his war horse in far countries in search 
of adventure.’ Do you remember that?” 

Georgina nodded yes without raising her head. 


A Modern “St. George and the Dragon” 297 

“Then you remember he came to a beach where 
the Princess Saba called to him to flee, because the 
Dragon, the most terrible monster ever seen on 
earth, was about to come up out of the sea and de- 
stroy the city. Every year it came up to do this, 
and only the sacrifice of a beautiful maiden could 
stop it from destroying the people. 

“But undismayed, Saint George refused to flee. 
He stayed on and fought the dragon, and wounded 
it, and bound it with the maiden’s sash and led it 
into the market place where it was finally killed. 
And the people were forever freed from the terrible 
monster because of his prowess. Do you remember 
all that?” 

Again Georgina nodded. She knew the story well. 
Every Christmas as far back as she could remem- 
ber she had eaten her bit of plum pudding from a 
certain rare old blue plate, on which was the pic- 
ture of Saint George, the dragon and the Princess. 

“Nowadays,” Barby went on, “because men do not 
ride around ‘clad in bright armor,’ doing knightly 
deeds, people do not recognize them as knights. But 
your father is doing something that is just as great 
and just as brave as any of the deeds of any knight 
who ever drew a sword. Over in foreign ports 
where he has been stationed, is a strange disease 
which seems to rise out of the marshes every year, 
just as the dragon did, and threaten the health and 
the lives of the people. It is especially bad on ship- 


298 Georgina of the Rainbows 

board, and it is really harder to fight than a real 
dragon would be, because it is an invisible foe, a 
sickness that comes because of a tiny, unseen mi 
crobe. 

“Your father has watched it, year after year, at- 
tacking not only the sailors of foreign navies but 
our own men, when they have to live in those ports, 
and he made up his mind to go on a quest for this 
invisible monster, and kill it if possible. It is such 
a very important quest that the Government w r as 
glad to grant him a year’s leave of absence from the 
service. 

“He was about to come home to see us first, when 
he met an old friend, a very wealthy Englishman, 
who has spent the greater part of his life collecting 
rare plants and studying their habits. He has writ- 
ten several valuable books on Botany, and the last 
ten years he has been especially interested in the 
plants of China. He was getting ready to go to the 
very places that your father was planning to visit, 
and he had with him an interpreter and a young 
American assistant. When he invited your father to 
join him it was an opportunity too great to be re- 
fused. This Mr. Bowles is familiar with the coun- 
try and the people, even speaks the language him- 
self a little. He had letters to many of the high 
officials, and could be of the greatest assistance to 
your father in many ways, even though he did not 
stay with the party. He could always be in com- 
munication with it. 


A Modern “St. George and the Dragon” 299 

“So, of course, he accepted the invitation. It is 
far better for the quest and far better for himself 
to be with such companions. 

“I am not uneasy about him, knowing he has 
friends within call in case of sickness and accident, 
and he will probably be able to accomplish his pur- 
pose more quickly with the help they will be able to 
give. You know he has to go off into ail sorts of 
dirty, uncomfortable places, risk his own health and 
safety, go among the sick and suffering where he 
can watch the progress of the disease under different 
conditions. 

“The whole year may be spent in a vain search, 
with nothing to show for it at the end, and even if 
he is successful and finds the cause of this strange ill- 
ness and a remedy, his only reward will be the sat- 
isfaction of knowing he has done something to re- 
lieve the suffering of his fellow-creatures. People 
can understand the kind of bravery that shows. If 
he were rescuing one person from a burning house 
or a sinking boat they would cry out, ‘What a hero.’ 
But they don’t seem to appreciate this kind of res- 
cue work. It will do a thousand times more good, 
because it will free the whole navy from the teeth 
of the dragon. 

“If there were a war, people would not expect him 
to come home. We are giving him up to his country 
now, just as truly as if he were in the midst of battle. 
A soldier’s w r ife and a soldier’s daughter — it is the 
proof of our love and loyalty, Georgina, to bear his 


300 Georgina of the Rainbows 

long absence cheerfully, no matter how hard that is 
to do; to be proud that he can serve his country if 
not with his sword, with the purpose and prowess of 
a Saint George.” 

Barby’s eyes were wet but there was a starry light 
in them, as she lifted Georgina’s head and kissed her. 
Two little arms were thrown impulsively around her 
neck. 

‘"Oh, Barby ! I’m so sorry that I didn’t know all 
that before! I didn’t understand, and I felt real 
ugly about it when I heard people whispering and 
saying things as if he didn’t love us any more. And 
— when I said my prayers at bedtime — I didn’t sing 
‘Eternal Father Strong to Save’ a single night while 
you were gone.” 

Comforting arms held her close. 

“Why didn’t you write and tell mother about it?” 

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad. I was afraid 
from what Cousin Mehitable said you were going 
to die. I worried and worried over it. Oh, I had 
the miserablest time !” 

Another kiss interrupted her. “But you’ll never 
do that way again, Georgina. Promise me that no 
matter what happens you’ll come straight to me 
and have it set right.” 

The promise was given, with what remorse and 
penitence no one could know but Georgina, recalling 
the letter she had written, beginning with a stern 
“Dear Sir.” But to justify herself, she asked after 
the hair-brushing had begun again: 


A Modern “St. George and the Dragon” 301 

“But Barby, why has he stayed away from home 
four whole years? He wasn’t hunting dragons be- 
fore this, was he?” 

“No, but I thought you understood that, too. He 
^•didn’t come back here to the Cape because there were 
important things which kept him in Washington dur- 
ing his furloughs. Maybe you were too small to re- 
member that the time you and I were spending the 
summer in Kentucky he had planned to join us there. 
But he wired that his best friend in the Navy, an old 
Admiral, was at the point of death, and didn’t want 
him to leave him. The Admiral had befriended him 
in so many ways when he first went into the service 
that there was nothing else for your father to do but 
stay with him as long as he was needed. You were 
only six then, and I was afraid the long, hot trip 
might make you sick, so I left you with mamma while 
I went on for several weeks. Surely you remember 
something of that time.” 

“No, just being in Kentucky is all I remember, 
and your going away for a while.” 

“And the next time some business affairs of his 
own kept him in Washington, something very im- 
portant. You were just getting over the measles 
and I didn’t dare take you, so you stayed with Tippy. 
So you see it wasn’t your father’s fault that he didn’t 
see you. He had expected you to be brought down 
to Washington.” 

Georgina pondered over the explanation a while* 


302 Georgina of the Rainbows 

then presently said with a sigh, “Goodness me, how 
easy it is to look at things the wrong way.” 

Soon after her voice blended with Barby’s in a 
return to the long neglected bedtime rite : 

“Oh, hear as when we cry to Thee f 
For those in peril on the seaF 

Afterward, her troubles all smoothed and ex- 
plained away, she lay in the dark, comforted and 
at peace with the world. Once a little black doubt 
thrust its head up like a snake, to remind her of 
Melindy’s utterance, “When a man wants to write, 
he’s gwine to write, busy or no busy.” But even 
that found an explanation in her thoughts. 

Of course, Melindy meant just ordinary men. 
Not those who had great deeds to do in the world 
like her father. Probably Saint George himself 
hadn’t written to his family often, if he had a fam- 
ily. He couldn’t be expected to. He had “other fish 
to fry,” and it was perfectly right and proper for 
him to put his mind on the frying of them to the neg- 
lect of everything else. 

The four months’ long silence was unexplained 
save for this comforting thought, but Georgina wor- 
ried about it no longer. Up from below came the 
sound of keys touched softly as Barby sang an old 
lullaby. She sang it in a glad, trustful sort of way, 


A Modern “St. George and the Dragon 5 ' 303 


“He is far across the sea , 

But he } s coming home to me, 

Baby mine! ,} 

Lying there in the dark, Georgina composed an- 
other letter to send after her first one, and next 
morning this is what she wrote, sitting up in the 
willow tree with a magazine on her knees for a writ- 
ing table : 

“Dearest Father : I am sorry that I wrote that last 
letter, because everything is different from what I 
thought it was. I did not know until Barby came 
home and told me, that you are just as brave as St. 
George was, clad in bright armor, when he went to 
rescue the people from the dragon. I hope you get 
the monster that comes up out of the sea every year 
after the poor sailors. Barby says we are giving 
you to our country in this way, as much as if there 
was war, so now I’m prouder of having a St.- 
George-and-the-dragon-kind of a father than one like 
Peggy Burrell’s, even if she does know him well 
enough to call him ‘Dad-o’-my-heart.’ Even if people 
don’t understand, and say things about your never 
coming home to see us, we are going to ‘still bear 
up and steer right onward,’ because that’s our line 
to live by. And we hope as hard as we can every 
day, that you’ll get the mike-robe you are in kwest of. 
Your loving little daughter, Georgina Huntingdon.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


THE DOCTOR'S DISCOVERY 

TN due time the letter written in the willow tree 
A reached the city of Hong-Kong, and was carried 
to the big English hotel, overlooking the loveliest 
of Chinese harbors. But it was not delivered to 
Doctor Huntingdon. It was piled on top of all the 
other mail which lay there, awaiting his return. 
Under it was Georgina’s first letter to him and the 
one she had written to her mother about Dan Darcy 
and the rifle. And under that was the one which 
Barbara called the “rainbow letter,” and then at 
least half a dozen from Barbara herself, with the 
beautiful colored photograph of the Towncrier and 
his lass. Also there were several bundles of official- 
looking documents and many American newspapers. 

Nothing had been forwarded to him for two 
months, because he had left instructions to hold his 
mail until further notice. The first part of that time 
he was moving constantly from one out-of-the-way 
place to another where postal delivery was slow and 
uncertain. The last part of that time he was lying 
ill in the grip of the very disease which he had gone 
out to study and to conquer. 

He was glad then to be traveling in the wake of 
304 


The Doctor’s Discovery 305 
the friendly old Englishman and his party. Through 
their interpreter, arrangements were made to have 
him carried to one of the tents of a primitive sort 
of a hospital, kept by some native missionaries. 
The Englishman’s young assistant went with him. 
He was a quiet fellow whom Mr. Bowles had jok- 
ingly dubbed David the silent, because it was so hard 
to make him talk. But Doctor Huntingdon, a re- 
served, silent man himself, had been attracted to him 
by that very trait. 

During the months they had been thrown together 
so much, Dave had taken great interest in the Doc- 
tor’s reports of the experiments he was making in 
treating the disease. When the Doctor was told 
that Mr. Bowles had gone back to the coast, having 
found what he wanted and made his notes for his 
next book, and consequently Dave was free to stay 
and nurse him, he gave a sigh of relief. 

Dave stopped his thanks almost gruffly. 

“There’s more than one reason for my staying,” 
he said. “I’ve been sick among strangers in a strange 
country, myself, and I know how it feels. Besides* 
I’m interested in seeing if this new treatment of 
yours works out on a white man as well as it did on 
these natives. I’ll be doing as much in the way of 
scientific research, keeping a chart on you, as if I 
were taking notes for Mr. Bowles.” 

That was a long speech for Dave, the longest that 
he made during the Doctor’s illness. But in the days 


306 Georgina of the Rainbows 

which followed, one might well have wondered if 
there was not a greater reason than those 1 he offered 
for such devoted attendance. He was always within 
call, always so quick to notice a want that usually a 
wish was gratified before it could be expressed. His 
was a devotion too constant to be prompted merely 
by sympathy for a fellow-country-man or interest in 
medical experiments. 

Once, w T hen the Doctor was convalescing, he 
opened his eyes to find his silent attendant sitting be- 
side him reading, and studied him for some time, 
unobserved. 

“Dave,” he said, after watching him a while — “it’s 
the queerest thing — lately every time I look at you 
I’m reminded of home. You must resemble some- 
one I used to know back there, but for the life of me 
I can’t recall who.” 

Dave answered indifferently, without glancing up 
from the page. 

“There’s probably a thousand fellows that look 
like me. I’m medium height and about every third 
person you see back in the States has gray eyes like 
mine, and just the ordinary every-day sort of fea- 
tures that I have.” 

The Doctor made no answer. It never would have 
occurred to him to tell Dave in what way his face 
differed from the many others of his type. There 
was a certain kindliness of twinkle in the gray eyes 
at times, and always a straightforward honesty of 


The Doctor’s Discovery 307 

gaze that made one instinctively trust him. There 
was strength of purpose in the resolute set of his 
mouth, and one could not imagine him being turned 
back on any road which he had made up his mind to 
travel to the end. 

Several days after that when the Doctor was sit- 
ting up outside the tent, the resemblance to someone 
whom he could not recall, puzzled him again. Dave 
was whittling, his lips pursed up as he whistled softly 
in an absent-minded sort of way. 

“Dave,” exclaimed the Doctor, “there’s something 
in the way you sit there, whittling and whistling that 
brings little old Provincetown right up before my 
eyes. I can see old Captain Ames sitting there on 
the wharf on a coil of rope, whittling just as you 
are doing, and joking with Sam and the crew as they 
pile into the boat to go out to the weirs. I can see 
the nets spread out to dry alongshore, and smell tar 
and codfish as plain as if it were here right under 
my nose. And down in Fishburn Court there’s the lit- 
tle house that was always a second home to me, with 
Uncle Darcy pottering around in the yard, singing 
his old sailors’ songs.” 

The Doctor closed his eyes and drew in a long , 1 
slow breath. 

“Um! There’s the most delicious smell coming 
out of that kitchen — blueberry pies that Aunt Els- 
peth’s baking. What wouldn’t! give this minute for 
one of those good, juicy blueberry pies of hers, smok- 


3g 8 Georgina of the Rainbows 

mg hot. I can smell it clear over here in China. 
There never was anything in the world that tasted 
half so good. I was always tagging around after 
Uncle Darcy, as I called him. He was the Town- 
; crier, and one of those staunch, honest souls who 
make you believe in the goodness of God and man 
no matter what happens to shake the foundations of 
your faith.” 

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked up in- 
quiringly, startled by the knocking over of the stool 
on which Dave had been sitting. He had risen ab- 
ruptly and gone inside the tent. 

“Go on,” he called back. “I can hear you.” 

He seemed to be looking for something, for he was 
striding up and down in its narrow space. The Doc- 
tor raised his voice a trifle. 

“That’s all I had to say. I didn’t intend to bore 
you talking about people and places you never heard 
of. But it just came over me in a big wave — that 
feeling of homesickness that makes you feel you’ve 
got to get back or die. Did you ever have it?” 

“Yes,” came the answer in an indifferent tone. 
“Several times.” 

“Well, it’s got me now, right by the throat.” 

Presently he called, “Dave, while you’re in there 
I wish you’d look in my luggage and see what news- 
papers are folded up with it. I have a dim recol- 
lection that a Provincetown Advocate came about 
the time I was taken sick and I never opened it. 


The Doctor’s Discovery 309 

“Ah, that’s it!” he exclaimed when Dave emerged 
presently, holding out the newspaper. “Look at the 
cut across the top of the first page. Old Province- 
town itself. It’s more for the name of the town 
' printed across that picture of the harbor than for the 
,news that I keep on taking the paper. Ordinarily, 
I never do more than glance at the news items, but 
there’s time to-day to read even the advertisements. 
You’ve no idea how good those familiar old names 
look to me.” 

He read some of them aloud, smiling over the 
memories they awakened. But he read without an 
auditor, for Dave found he had business with one 
of the missionaries, and put off to attend to it. On 
his return he was greeted with the announcement : 

“Dave, I want to get out of here. I’m sure there 
must be a big pile of mail waiting for me right now 
in Hong-Kong, and I’m willing to risk the trip. Let’s 
start back to-morrow.” 

Several days later they were in Hong-Kong, en- 
joying the luxuries of civilization in the big hotel. 
Still weak from his recent illness and fatigued by 
the hardships of his journey, Doctor Huntingdon 
did not go down to lunch the day of their arrival. < 
It was served in his room, and as he ate he stopped 
at intervals to take another dip into the pile of mail 
which had been brought up to him. 

In his methodical way he opened the letters in the 
order of their arrival, beginning with the one whose 


310 Georgina of the Rainbows 

postmark showed the earliest date. It took a long 
time to finish eating on account of these pauses. Hop 
Ching was bringing in his coffee when Dave came 
back, having had not only his lunch in the dining- 
room, but a stroll through the streets afterward. 
He found Doctor Huntingdon with a photograph 
propped up in front of him, studying it intently while 
Hop Ching served the coffee. The Doctor passed 
the photograph to Dave. 

“Take it over to the window where you can get a 
good light on it,” he commanded. “Isn’t that a 
peach of a picture? That’s my little daughter and 
the old friend I’m always quoting. The two seem 
to be as great chums as he and I used to be. I don’t 
want to bore you, Dave, but I would like to read you 
this letter that she wrote to her mother, and her 
mother sent on to me. In the first place I’m proud 
of her writing such a letter. I had no idea she could 
express herself so well, and secondly the subject mat- 
ter makes it an interesting document. 

“On my little girl’s birthday Uncle Darcy took 
her out in his boat, The Betsey. The name of that 
old boat certainly does sound good to me ! He told 
'her — but wait! I’d rather read it to you in her own 
words. It’ll give you such a good idea of the old 
man. Perhaps I ought to explain that he had a son 
who got into trouble some ten years ago, and left 
home. He was just a little chap when I saw him 



Jpbwncrist tfmfMxlm. 




i 




















- 








• & 























» 























































































■ 


























































The Doctor’s Discovery 311 

last, hardly out of dresses, the fall I left home for 
college. 

“Uncle Darcy and Aunt Elspeth were fairly fool- 
ish about him. He had come into their lives late, 
you see, after their older children died. I don’t be- 
lieve it would make any difference to them what he’d 
do. They would welcome him back from the very 
gallows if he’d only come. His mother never has 
believed he did anything wrong, and the hope of the 
old man’s life is that his ‘Danny,’ as he calls him, 
will make good in some way — do something to wipe 
out the stain on his hame and come back to him.” 

The Doctor paused as if waiting for some encour- 
agement to read. 

“Go on,” said Dave. “I’d like to hear it, best in 
the world.” 

He turned his chair so that he could look out of 
the window at the harbor. The Chinese sampans 
of every color were gliding across the water like a 
flock of gaily-hued swans. He seemed to be divid- 
ing his attention between those native boats and the 
letter when the Doctor first began to read. It was 
Georgina’s rainbow letter, and the colors of the rain- 
jbow were repeated again and again by the reds and 
/yellows and blues of that fleet of sampans. 

But as the Doctor read on Dave listened more in- 
tently, so intently, in fact, that he withdrew his at- 
tention entirely from the window, and leaning for- 


312 Georgina of the Rainbows 

ward, buried his face in his hands, his elbows rest- 
ing on his knees. The Doctor found him in this at- 
titude when he looked up at the end, expecting some 
sort of comment. He was used to Dave’s silences, 
but he had thought this surely would call forth some 
remark. Then as he studied the bowed figure, it 
flashed into his mind that the letter must have 
touched some chord in the boy’s own past. Maybe 
Dave had an old father somewhere, longing for his 
return, and the memory was breaking him all up. 

Silently, the Doctor turned aside to the pile of let- 
ters still unread. Georgina’s stern little note begin- 
ning “Dear Sir” was the next in order and was in 
such sharp contrast to the loving, intimate way she 
addressed her mother, that he felt the intended re- 
proach of it, even while it amused and surprised him. 
But it hurt a little. It wasn’t pleasant to have his 
only child regard him as a stranger. It was for- 
tunate that the next letter was the one in which she 
hastened to call him “a Saint-George-and-the-dragon 
sort of father.” 

When he read Barbara’s explanation of his long 
silence and Georgina’s quick acceptance of it, he 
wanted to take them both in his arms and tell them 
how deeply he was touched by their love and loyalty; 
that he hadn’t intended to be neglectful of them or so 
absorbed in his work that he put it first in his life. 
But it was hard for him to put such things into words, 
either written or spoken. He had left too much to 


The Doctor’s Discovery 313 

be taken for granted he admitted remorsefully to 
himself. 

For a long time he sat staring sternly into space. 
So people had been gossiping about him, had they? 
And Barbara and the baby had heard the whispers 

and been hurt by them He’d go home and put a 

stop to it. He straightened himself up and turned 
to report his sudden decision to Dave. But the chair 
by the window was empty. The Doctor glanced over 
his shoulder. Dave had changed his seat and was 
sitting behind him. They were back to back, but a 
mirror hung in such a way the Doctor could see 
Dave’s face. 

With arms crossed on a little table in front of 
him, he was leaning forward for another look at the 
photograph which he had propped up against a vase. 
A hungry yearning was in his face as he bent to- 
wards it, gazing into it as if he could not look his 
fill. Suddenly his head went down on his crossed 
arms in such a hopeless fashion that in a flash 
Doctor Huntingdon divined the reason, and recog- 
nized the resemblance that had haunted him. Now 
he understood why the boy had stayed behind to 
nurse him. Now a dozen trifling incidents that had 
seemed of no importance to him at the time, con« 
firmed his suspicion. 

His first impulse was to Cry out “Dan!” but his 
life-long habit of repression checked him. He felt 
he had no right to intrude on the privacy which the 


314 Georgina of the Rainbows 

boy guarded so jealously. But Uncle Darcy’s son! 
Off here in a foreign land, bowed down with remorse 
and homesickness ! How he must have been tor- 
tured with all that talk of the old town and its 
people ! 

A great wave of pity and yearning tenderness 
swept through the Doctor’s heart as he sat twisted 
around in his chair, staring at that reflection in the 
mirror. Fie was uncertain what he ought to do. He 
longed to go to him with some word of comfort, but 
he shrank from the thought of saying anything 
which would seem an intrusion. 

Finally he rose, and walking across the room, laid 
his hand on the bowed shoulder with a sympathetic 
pressure. 

“Look here, my boy,” he said, in his deep, quiet 
Voice. “I’m not asking you what the trouble is, but 
whatever it is you’ll let me help you, won’t you? 
You’ve given me the right to ask that by all you’ve 
done for me. Anything I could do would be only 
too little for one who has stood by me the way you 
have. I want you to feel that I’m your friend in the 
deepest meaning of that word. You can count on me 
for anything.” Then in a lighter tone as he gave the 
shoulder a half-playful slap he added, “I’m for you, 
son.” 

The younger man raised his head and straightened 
himself up in his chair. 

“You wouldn’t be!” he exclaimed, “if you knew 


The Doctor’s Discovery 315 

who I am.” Then he blurted out the confession: 
“I’m Dan Darcy. I can’t let you go on believing in 
me when you talk like that.” 

“But I knew it when I said what I did,” inter- 
rupted Doctor Huntingdon. “It flashed over me 
first when I saw you looking at your father’s picture. 
No man could look at a stranger’s face that way. 
Then I knew what the resemblance was that has 
puzzled me ever since I met you. The only wonder 
to me is that I did not see it long ago.” 

“You knew it,” repeated Dan slowly, “and yet 
you told me to count you as a friend in the deepest 
meaning of that word. How could you mean it?” 

The Doctor’s answer came with deep impressive* 
ness. 

“Because, despite whatever slip you may have 
made as a boy of eighteen, you have grown into a 
man worthy of such a friendship. A surgeon in my 
position learns to read character, learns to know an 
honest man when he sees one. No matter what lies 
behind you that you regret, I have every confidence 
in you now, Dan. I am convinced you are wwthy 
to be the son of even such a man as Daniel Darcy.” 

, He held out his hand to have it taken in a long, 
silent grip that made it ache. 

“Come on and go back home with me,” urged the 
Doctor. “You’ve made good out here. Do the 
brave thing now and go back and live down the past. 
It’ll make the old folks so happy it’ll wipe out the 


316 Georgina of the Rainbows 

heart-break of all those years that you’ve been 
away.” 

Dan’s only response was another grasp of the 
Doctor’s hand as strong and as painful as the first. 
Pulling himself up by it he stood an instant trying 
to say something, then, too overcome to utter a word, 
made a dash for the door. 

Doctor Huntingdon was so stirred by the scene 
that he found it difficult to go back to his letters, but 
the very next one in order happened to be the one 
Georgina wrote to her mother just after Belle Had 
given her consent to Barby’s being told of Emmett’s 
confession. He read the latter part of it, standing, 
for he had sprung to his feet with the surprise of its 
opening sentence. He did not even know that Em- 
mett had been dead all these years, and Dan, who 
had had no word from home during all his absence, 
could not know it either. He was in a tremor of 
eagerness to hurry to him with the news, but he 
waited to scan the rest of the letter. 

Then with it fluttering open in his hand he strode 
across the hall and burst into Dan’s room without 
knocking. 

“Pack up your junk, this minute, boy,” he shouted. 
“We take the first boat out of here for home. Look 
at this !” 

He thrust Georgina’s letter before Dan’s bewild- 
ered eyes. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


WHILE THEY WAITED 

*6 / T T HERE comes the boy from the telegraph 
office.” Mrs. Triplett spoke with such a 
raven-like note of foreboding in her voice that Geor- 
gina, practising her daily scales, let her hands fall 
limply from the keys. 

“The Tishbite!” she thought uneasily. What evil 
was it about to send into the house now, under cover 
of that yellow envelope? Would it take Barby 
away from her as it had done before? 

Sitting motionless on the piano stool, she waited 
in dread while Mrs. Triplett hurried to the door be- 
fore the boy could ring, signed for the message and 
silently bore it upstairs. The very fact that she 
went up with it herself, instead of calling to Barby 
that a message had come, gave Georgina the impres- 
sion that it contained bad news. 

“A cablegram for me?” she heard Barby ask. 
Then there was a moment’s silence in which she 
knew the message was being opened and read. Then 
there was a murmur as if she were reading it aloud 
to Tippy and then — an excited whirlwind of a Barby 
flying down the stairs, her eyes like happy stars, her 
317 


318 Georgina of the Rainbows 

arms outstretched to gather Georgina into them, and 
her voice half laugh, half sob, singing: 

“Ohy he* s coming home to me 
Baby mine!” 

Never before had Georgina seen her so radiant, 
so excited, so overflowingly happy that she gave vent 
to her feelings as a little schoolgirl might have done. 
Seizing Georgina in her arms she waltzed her around 
the room until she was dizzy. Coming to a pause 
at the piano stool she seated herself and played, 
“The Year of Jubilee Has Come,” in deep, crash- 
ing chords and trickly little runs and trills, till the 
old tune was transformed into a paen of jubilation. 

Then she took the message from her belt, where 
she had tucked it and re-read it to assure herself of 
its reality. 

“Starting home immediately. Stay three months, 
dragon captured.” 

“That must mean that his quest has been fairly 
successful,” she said. “If he’s found the cause of 
the disease it’ll be only a matter of time till he finds 
! how to kill it.” 

Then she looked up, puzzled. 

“How strange for him to call it the dragon . 
How could he know we’d understand, and that we’ve 
been calling it that?” 

Georgina’s time had come for confession. 


While They Waited 319 

“Oh, I wrote him a little note after you told me 
the story and told him I was proud of having a 
Saint-George-kind of a father, and that we hoped 
every day he’d get the microbe.” 

“You darling!” exclaimed Barbara, drawing her 
to her for another impulsive hug. She did not ask 
as Georgina was afraid she would : 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were writing to your 
father?” Barbara understood, without asking, re- 
membering the head bowed in her lap after that con- 
fession of her encounter with the prying stranger in 
the bakery. 

Suddenly Georgina asked : 

“Barby, what is the ‘Tishbite?’ ” 

“The what?” echoed Barby, wrinkling her fore- 
head in perplexity. 

“The Tishbite. Don’t you know it says in the 
Bible, Elijah and the Tishbite ” 

“Oh, no, dear, you’ve turned it around, and put 
the and in the wrong place. It is ‘And Elijah the 
Tishbite,’ just as we’d say William the Norman or 
Manuel the Portuguese.” 

“Well, for pity sakes!” drawled Georgina in a 
long, slow breath of relief. “Is that all? I wish I’d; 
known it long ago. It would have saved me a lot of 
scary feelings.” 

Then she told how she had made the wish on the 
star and tried to prove it as Belle had taught her, by 
opening the Bible at random. 


320 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“If you had read on,” said Barby, “you’d have 
found what it meant your own self.” 

“But the book shut up before I had a chance,” ex- 
plained Georgina. “And I never could find the place 
again, although I’ve hunted and hunted. And I 
was sure it meant some sort of devil, and that it 
would come and punish me for using the Bible that 
way as if it were a hoodoo.” 

“Then why didn’t you ask me?” insisted Barby. 
“There’s another time you see, when a big worry 
and misunderstanding could have been cleared away 
with a word. To think of your living in dread all 
that time, w T hen the Tishbite was only a good old 
prophet whose presence brought a blessing to the 
house which sheltered him.” 

That night when Georgina’s curls were being 
brushed she said, “Barby, I know now who my 
Tishbite is; it’s Captain Kidd. He’s brought a 
blessing ever since he came to this town. If it hadn’t 
been for his barking that day we were playing in 
the garage I wouldn’t be here now to tell the tale. 
If it hadn’t been for him I wouldn’t have known 
Richard, and we’d never have started to playing 
pirate. And if we hadn’t played pirate Richard 
wouldn’t have asked to borrow the rifle, and if he 
hadn’t asked we never would have found the note 
hidden in the stock, and if we hadn’t found the note 
nobody would have known that Danny was inno- 
cent. Then if Captain Kidd hadn’t found the pouch 


While They Waited 321 

we wouldn’t have seen the compass that led to find- 
ing the wild-cat woman who told us that Danny was 
alive and well.” 

“What a House-That-Jack-Built sort of tale that 
w r as!” exclaimed Barby, much amused. “We’ll have' 
to do something in Captain Kidd’s honor. Give him ** 
a party perhaps, and light up the holiday tree.” 

The usual bedtime ceremonies were over, and 
Barby had turned out the light and reached the door 
when Georgina raised herself on her elbow to call: 

“Barby, I’ve just thought of it. The wish I made 
on that star that night is beginning to come true. 
Nearly everybody I know is happy about something.” 
Then she snuggled her head down on the pillow 
with a little wriggle of satisfaction. “Ugh! this is 
such a good world. I’m so glad I’m living in it. 
Aren’t you?” 

And Barby had to come all the way back in the 
dark to emphasize her heartfelt “yes, indeed,” with 
a hug, and to seal the restless eyelids down with a 
kiss — the only way to make them stay shut. 

Richard came back the next day. He brought a 
picture to Georgina from Mr. Locke. It was the 
copy of the illustration he had promised her, the 
fairy shallop with its sails set wide, coming across 
a sea of Dreams, and at the prow, white-handed 
Hope, the angel girt with golden wings, which swept 
back over the sides of the vessel. 

“Think of having a painting by the famous Mil- 


322 Georgina of the Rainbows 

ford Norris Locke!” exclaimed Barby. She hung 
over it admiringly. “Most people would be happy 
to have just his autograph.” She bent nearer to ex- 
amine the name in the corner of the picture. “What’s 
this underneath? Looks like number IV.” 

“Oh, that means he’s number four in our Rain- 
bow Club. Peggy Burrell is number five and the 
Captain is number six. That’s all the members we 
have so far.” 

“Aren’t you going to count me in?” asked Barby. 

“Oh, you are counted in. You’ve belonged from 
the beginning. We made you an honary member 
or whatever it is they call it, people who deserve to 
belong because they’re always doing nice things, 
but don’t know it. There’s you and Uncle Darcy 
and Captain Kidd, because he saved our lives and 
saved our families from having to have a double 
funeral.” 

Barby stooped to take the little terrier’s head be- 
tween her hands and pat-a-cake it back and forth 
with an affectionate caress. 

“Captain Kidd,” she said gaily, “you shall have 
a party this very night, and there shall be bones and 
cakes on the holiday tree, and you shall be the best 
man with a ’normous blue bow on your collar, and 
we’ll all dance around in your honor this way.” 

Springing to her feet and holding the terrier’s 
front paws, she waltzed him around and around on 
his hind legs, singing: 


While They Waited 323 

u All around the barberry bush , 

Barberry bush, barberry bush. 

All around the barberry bush 
So early in the morning. }) 

Georgina, accustomed all her life to such frisky 
performances, took it as a matter of course that 
Barby should give vent to her feelings in the same 
way that she herself would have done, but Richard 
stood by, bewildered. It was a revelation to him 
that anybody’s mother could be so charmingly and 
unreservedly gay. She seemed more like a big sis- 
ter than any of the mothers of his acquaintance. 
He couldn’t remember his own, and while Aunt Letty 
was always sweet and good to him he couldn’t imag- 
ine her waltzing a dog around on its hind legs any 
more than he could imagine Mrs. Martha Washing- 
ton doing it. 

The holiday tree was another revelation to him, 
when he came back at dusk to find it lighted with the 
colored lanterns and blooming with flags and hung 
with surprises for Georgina and himself. 

“You’ve never seen it lighted,” Barby explained, 
“and Georgina’s birthday had to be skipped because 
I wasn’t here to celebrate, so we’ve rolled all the 
holidays into one, for a grand celebration in Cap- 
tain Kidd’s honor.” 

It was to shorten the time of waiting that Barbara 
threw herself into the children’s games and pleasures 


324 Georgina of the Rainbows 

so heartily. Every night she tore a leaf off the cal- 
endar and planned something to fill up the next day 
to the brim with work or play. They climbed to the 
top of the monument when she found that Richard 
had never made the ascent, and stood long, looking 
off to Plymouth, twenty miles away, and at the town 
spread out below them, seeming from their great 
height, a tiny toy village. They went to Truro to 
see the bayberry candle-dipping. They played Maud 
Muller, raking the yard, because the boy whom old 
Jeremy had installed in his place had hurt his foot. 
Old Jeremy, being well on toward ninety now, no 
longer attempted any work, though still hale and 
hearty. But the garden had been his especial do- 
main too long for him to give it up entirely, and 
he spent hours in it daily, to the disgust of his easy- 
going successor. 

There were picnics at Highland Light and the 
Race Point life-saving station. There were long 
walks out the state road, through the dunes and by 
the cranberry bogs. But everything which speeded 
Barbara’s weeks of feverish waiting, hurrying her 
on nearer her heart’s desire, brought Richard nearer 
to the time of parting from the old seaport town 
and the best times he had ever known. He had 
kodak pictures of all their outings. Most of them 
were light-struck or out of focus or over-exposed, 
but he treasured them because he had taken them 
himself with his first little Brownie camera. There 


While They Waited 325 

was nothing wrong or queer with the recollection of 
the scenes they brought to him. His memory photo- 
graphed only perfect days, and he dreaded to have 
them end. 

Before those weeks were over Richard began to 
feel that he belonged to Barby in a way, and she to 
him. There were many little scenes of which no 
snapshot could be taken, which left indelible impres- 
sions. 

For instance, those evenings in the dim room 
lighted only by the moonlight streaming in through 
the open windows, when Barby sat at the piano with 
Georgina beside her, singing, while he looked out 
over the sea and felt the soul of him stir vaguely, as 
if he had wings somewhere, waiting to be unfurled. 

The last Sunday of his vacation he went to church 
with Barbara and Georgina. It wasn’t the Church 
of the Pilgrims, but another white-towered one near 
by. The president of the bank was one of the ush- 
ers. He called Richard by name when he shook 
hands with the three of them at the door. That in 
itself gave Richard a sense of importance and of 
being welcome. It was a plain old-fashioned church, 
its only decoration a big bowl of tiger-likes on a table 1 
down in front of the pulpit. When he took his seat 
in one of the high front pews he felt that he had 
never been in such a quiet, peaceful place before. 

They were very early. The windows were open, 
and now and then a breeze blowing in from the sea 


326 Georgina of the Rainbows 

fluttered the leaves of a hymn-book lying open on the 
front seat. Each time they fluttered he heard an- 
other sound also, as faint and sweet as if it were 
the ringing of little crystal bells. Georgina, on the 
other side of Barby, heard it too, and they looked at 
each other questioningly. Then Richard discovered 
where the tinkle came from, and pointed upward 
to call her attention to it. There, from the center 
of the ceiling swung a great, old-fashioned chande- 
lier, hung with a circle of pendant prisms, each one 
as large and shining as the one Uncle Darcy had 
given her. 

Georgina knew better than to whisper in such a 
place, but she couldn’t help leaning past Barby so 
that Richard could see her lips silently form the 
words, “Rainbow Club.” She wondered if Mr. 
Gates had started it. There were enough prisms 
for nearly every member in the church to claim one. 

Barby, reading the silent message of her lips and 
guessing that Georgina was wondering over the dis- 
covery, moved her own lips to form the words, “just 
honorary members.” 

Georgina nodded her satisfaction. It was good 
to know that there were so many of them in the 
world, all working for the same end, whether they 
realized it or not. 

Just before the service began an old lady in the 
adjoining pew next to Richard, reached over the par- 
tition and offered him several cloves. He was too 


While They Waited 327 

astonished to refuse them and showed them to Barby, 
not knowing what to do with them. She leaned down 
and whispered behind her fan : 

“She eats them to keep her awake in church.” 

Richard had no intention of going to sleep, but 
he chewed one up, finding it so hot it almost strangled 
him. Every seat was filled in a short time, and pres- 
ently a drowsiness crept into the heated air which 
began to weave some kind of a spell around him. 
His shoes were new and his collar chafed his neck. 
His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He stared 
at the lilies till the whole front of the church seemed 
filled with them. He looked up at the chandelier 
and began to count the prisms, and watch for the 
times that the breeze swept across them and set them 
to tinkling. 

Then, the next thing that he knew he was waking 
from a long doze on Barby’s shoulder. She was 
fanning him with slow sweeps of her white-feathered 
fan which smelled deliciously of some faint per- 
fume, and the man from Boston was singing all 
alone, something about still waves and being brought 
into a haven. 

A sense of Sabbath peace and stillness enfolded 
him, with the beauty of the music and the lilies, the 
tinkling prisms, the faint, warm perfume wafted 
across his face by Barby’s fan. The memory of it 
all stayed with him as something very sacred and 
sw r eet, he could not tell why, unless it was that Bar- 


328 Georgina of the Rainbows 

by’s shoulder was such a dear place for a little moth« 
erless lad’s head to lie. 

Georgina, leaning against Barby on the other 
side, half asleep, sat up and straightened her hat 
when the anthem began. Being a Huntingdon she 
could not turn as some people did and stare up at 
the choir loft behind her when that wonderful voice 
sang alone. She looked up at the prisms instead, 
and as she looked it seemed to her that the voice 
was the voice of the white angel Hope, standing 
at the prow r of a boat, its golden wings sweeping 
back, as storm-tossed but triumphant, it brought the 
vessel in at last to happy anchorage. 

The words which the voice sang were the words 
on which the rainbow had rested, that day she read 
them to Aunt Elspeth: “So He bringeth them into 
their desired haven.” They had seemed like music 
then, but now, rolling upward, as if Hope herself 
were singing them at the prow of Life’s tossing shal- 
lop, they were more than musk. They voiced the 
joy of great desire finding great fulfilment. 


CHAPTER XXX 


NEARING THE END 

^/^LD Mr. Potter has had a stroke.” 

Georgina called the news up to Richard as 
she paused at the foot of the Green Stairs on her 
way to the net-mender’s house. 

“Belle sent a note over a little while ago and Pm 
taking the answer back. Come and go with me.” 

Richard, who had been trundling Captain Kidd 
around on his forefeet in the role of wheelbarrow, 
dropped the dog’s hind legs which he had been using 
as handles and came jumping down the steps, two at 
a time to do her bidding. 

“Belle’s gone over to take care of things,” Geor- 
gina explained, with an important air as they walked 
along. “There’s a man to help nurse him, but she’ll 
stay on to the end.” Her tone and words were Tip- 
py’s own as she made this announcement. 

“End of what?” asked Richard. “And what’s a 
stroke?” 

Half an hour earlier Georgina could not have an- 
swered his question, but she explained now with the 
air of one who has had a lifetime of experience. It 
was Mrs. Triplett’s fund she was drawing on, how- 
ever, and old Jeremy’s. Belle’s note had started 
them to comparing reminiscences, and out of their 
329 


330 Georgina of the Rainbows 

conversation Georgina had gathered many grue- 
some facts. 

“You may be going about as well and hearty as 
usual, and suddenly it’ll strike you to earth like light- 
ning, and it may leave you powerless to move for 
weeks and sometimes even years. You may know all 
that’s going on around you but not be able to speak 
or make a sign. Mr. Potter isn’t as bad as that, but 
he’s speechless. With him the end may come any 
time, yet he may linger on for nobody knows how 
long.” 

Richard had often passed the net-mender’s cot- 
tage in the machine, and stared in at the old man 
plying his twine-shuttle in front of the door. The 
fact that he was Emmett’s father and ignorant of 
the secret which Richard shared, made an object of 
intense interest out of an otherwise unattractive and 
commonplace old man. Now that interest grew 
vast and overshadowing as the children approached 
the house. 

Belle, stepping to the front door wdien she heard 
the gate click, motioned for them to go around to 
the back. As they passed an open side window, each 
looked in, involuntarily attracted by the sight of a 
bed drawn up close to it. Then they glanced at each 
other, startled and awed by what they saw, and 
bumped into each other in their haste to get by as 
quickly as possible. 

On the bed lay a rigid form, stretched out under 


Nearing the End 331 

a white counterpane. All that showed of the face 
above the bushy whiskers was as waxen looking as 
if death had already touched it, but the sunken eyes 
half open, showed that they were still in the mys- 
terious hold of what old Jeremy called a “living 
death.” It was a sight which neither of them could 
put out of their minds for days afterward. 

Belle met them at the back door, solemn, unsmil- 
ing, her hushed tones adding to the air of mystery 
which seemed to shroud the house. As she finished 
reading the note a neighbor came in the back way 
and Belle asked the children to wait a few minutes. 
They dropped down on the grass while Belle, lean- 
ing against the pump, answered Mrs. Brown’s ques- 
tions in low tones. 

She had been up all night, she told Mrs. Brown. 
Yes, she was going to stay on till the call came, no 
matter whether it was a week or a year. Mrs. Brown 
spoke in a hoarse whisper which broke now and then, 
letting her natural voice through with startling ef- 
fect. 

“It’s certainly noble of you,” she declared. 
“There’s not many who would put themselves out to 
do for an old person who hadn’t any claim on them 
the way you are doing for him. There’ll surely be 
stars in your crown.” 

Later, as the children trudged back home, sobered 
by all they had seen and heard, Georgina broke the 
silence. 


332 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Well, I think we ought to put Belle’s name on 
the very top line of our club book. She ought to be 
an honary member — the very honaryest one of all.” 

“Why?” asked Richard. 

i “You heard all Mrs. Brown said. Seems to me 
what she’s doing to give old Mr. Potter a good time 
is the very noblest ” 

There was an amazed look on Richard’s face as 
he interrupted with the exclamation : 

“Gee-minee! You don’t call what that old man’s 
having a good time, do you?” 

“Well, it’s good to what it would be if Bejle wasn’t 
taking care of him. And if she does as Mrs. Brown 
says, ‘carries some comfort into the valley of the 
shadow for him, making his last days bright,’ isn’t 
that the very biggest rainbow anybody could make?” 

“Ye-es,” admitted Richard in a doubtful tone. 
“Maybe it is if you put it that way.” 

They walked a few blocks more in silence, then 
he said: 

“I think Dan ought to be an honary member.” 

It was Georgina’s turn to ask why. 

“Aw, you know why! Taking the blame on him- 
self the way he did and everything.” 

“But he made just as bad times for Uncle Darcy 
and Aunt Elspeth as he made good times for Mr. 
Potter and Emmett. I don’t think he has any right 
to belong at all.” 

They argued the question hotly for a few min- 


Nearing the End 333 

utes, coming nearer to a quarrel than they had ever 
been before, and only dropping it as they crossed 
to a side street which led into the dunes. 

“Let’s turn here and go home this way,” sug- 
gested Richard. “Let’s go look at the place where 
we buried the pouch and see if the sand has shifted 
any.” 

Nothing was changed, however, except that the 
holes they had dug were filled to the level now, and 
the sand stretched an unbroken surface as before the 
day of their digging. 

“Cousin James says that if ever the gold comes 
to the top we can have it, because he paid the woman. 
But if it ever does I won’t be here to see it. I’ve 
got to go home in eight more days.” 

He stood kicking his toes into the sand as he 
added dolefully, “Here it is the end of the summer 
and we’ve only played at being pirates. We’ve 
never gone after the real stuff in dead earnest, one 
single time.” 

“I know,” admitted Georgina. “First we had to 
wait so long for your portrait to be finished and 
then you went off on the yacht, and all in between 
times things have happened so fast there never was 
any time. But we found something just as good as 
pirate stuff — that note in the rifle was worth more 
to Uncle Darcy than a chest of gold.” 

“And Captain Kidd was as good as a real pirate,” 
said Richard, brightening at the thought, “for he 


334 Georgina of the Rainbows 

brought home a bag of real gold, and was the one 
who started us after the wild-cat woman. I guess 
Uncle Darcy would rather know what she told him 
than have a chest of ducats and pearls.” 

“We can go next summer,” suggested Georgina. 

“Maybe I won’t be here next summer. Dad al- 
ways wants to try new places on his vacation. He 
and Aunt Letty like to move. But I’d like to stay 
here always. I hate to go away until I find out the 
end of things. I wish I could stay until the letter is 
found and Dan comes home.” 

“You may be a grown-up man before either of 
those things happen,” remarked Georgina sagely. 

“Then I’ll know I’ll be here to see ’m,” was the 
triumphant answer, “because when I’m a man I’m 
coming back here to live all the rest of my life. It’s 
the nicest place there is.” 

“If anything happens sooner I’ll write and tell 
you,” promised Georgina. 

Something happened the very next morning, how- 
ever, and Georgina kept part of her promise though 
not in writing* when she came running up the Green 
Stairs, excited and eager. Her news was so tre- 
mendously important that the words tumbled over 
each other in her haste to tell it. She could hardly 
make herself understood. The gist of it was that a 
long night letter had just arrived from her father, 
saying that he had landed in San Francisco and was 
taking the first homeward bound train. He would 


Nearing the End 335 

stop in Washington for a couple of days to attend 
to some business, and then was coming home for 
a long visit. And — this was the sentence Georgina 
saved till last to electrify Richard with : 

“Am bringing Dan with me.” 

“He didn’t say where he found him or anything 
else about it,” added Georgina, only ‘prepare his 
family for the surprise/ So Barby went straight 
down there to Fishburn Court and she’s telling Aunt 
Elspeth and Uncle Darcy now, so they’ll have time 
to get used to the news before he walks in on them.” 

They sat down on the top step with the dog be- 
tween them. 

“They must know it by this time,” remarked Geor- 
gina. “Oh, don’t you wish you could see what’s 
happening, and how glad everybody is? Uncle 
Darcy will want to start right out with his bell and 
ring it till it cracks, telling the whole town.” 

“But he won’t do it,” said Richard. “He prom- 
ised he wouldn’t.” 

“Anyhow till Belle says he can,” amended Geor- 
gina. “I’m sure she’ll say so when ‘the call’ comes, 
but nobody knows when that will be. It may be soon 
* and it may not be for years.” 

They sat there on the steps a long time, talking 
quietly, but with the holiday feeling that one has 
when waiting for a procession to pass by. The very 
air seemed full of that sense of expectancy, of wait- 
ing for something to happen. 


CHAPTER XXXI 


COMINGS AND GOINGS 

O UT towards the cranberry bogs went the Town- 
crier. No halting step this time, no weary 
droop of shoulders. It would have taken a swift- 
footed boy to keep pace with him on this errand. He 
was carrying the news to Belle. What he expected 
her to say he did not stop to ask himself, nor did 
he notice in the tumultuous joy which kept his old 
heart pounding at unwonted speed, that she turned 
white with the suddenness of his telling, and then a 
wave of color surged over her face. 

Her only answer was to lead him into the room 
where the old net-mender lay helpless, turning ap- 
pealing eyes to her as she entered, with the look 
in them that one sees in the eyes of a grateful dumb 
animal. His gaze did not reach as far as the Town- 
crier, who halted on the threshold until Belle joined 
him there. She led him outside. 

“You see for yourself how it is,” was all she said. 
“Do as you think best about it.” 

Out on the road again the Towncrier stood hesi- 
tating, uncertain which course to take. Twice he 
started in the direction of home, then retraced his 
336 


Comings and Goings 337 

steps again to stand considering. Finally he straight- 
ened up with a determined air and started briskly 
down the road which led to the center of the town. 
Straight to the bank he went, asking for Mr. Gates, 
and a moment later was admitted into the president’s 
private office. 

“And what can I do for you, Uncle Dan’l?” was 
the cordial greeting. 

The old man dropped heavily into the chair set 
out for him. He was out of breath from his rapid 
going. 

“You can do me one of the biggest favors I ever 
asked of anybody if you only will. Do you remem- 
ber a sealed envelope I brought in here the first of 
the summer and asked you to keep for me till I 
called for it?” 

“Yes, do you want it now?” 

“I’m going to show you what’s in it.” 

He had such an air of suppressed excitement as he 
said it and his breathing was so labored, that Mr. 
Gates wondered what could have happened to affect 
him so. When he came back from the vault he car- 
ried the envelope which had been left in his charge 
earlier in the summer. Uncle Darcy tore it open 
with fingers that trembled in their eagerness. 

“What I’m about to show you is for your eyes 
alone,” he said. He took out a crumpled sheet of 
paper which had once been torn in two and pasted 
together again in clumsy fashion. It was the paper 


338 Georgina of the Rainbows 

which had been wadded up in the rifle, which Belle 
had seized with hysterical fury, torn in two and 
flung from her. 

“There! Read that!” he commanded. 

Mr. Gates knew everybody in town. He had beenj 
one of the leading citizens who had subscribed to 
the monument in Emmett Potter’s honor. He could 
scarcely believe the evidence of his own eyes as he 
read the confession thrust into his hands, and he had 
never been more surprised at any tale ever told him 
than the one Uncle Darcy related now of the way 
it had been found, and his promise to Belle Trip- 
lett. 

“I’m not going to make it public while old Potter 
hangs on,” he said in conclusion. “I’ll wait till he’s 
past feeling the hurts of earth. But Mr. Gates, I’ve 
had word that my Danny’s coming home. I can’t 
let the boy come back to dark looks and cold shoul- 
ders turned on him everywhere. I thought if you’d 
just start the word around that he’s all right — that 
somebody else confessed to what he’s accused of — 
that you’d seen the proof with your own eyes and 
could vouch for his being all right — if you! d just 
give him a welcoming hand and show you believed in 
him it would make all the difference in the world in 
Danny’s home-coming. You needn’t mention any 
names,” he pleaded. “I know it’ll make a lot of talk 
and surmising, but that won’t hurt anybody. If 
you could just do that — — •” 


Comings and Goings 339 

When the old man walked out of the president’s 
office he carried his head as high as if he had been 
given a kingdom. He had been given what was 
worth more to him, the hearty handclasp of a man 
whose “word was as good as a bond,” and the prom- 
ise that Dan should be welcomed back to the town 
by great and small, as far as was in his power to 
make that welcome cordial and widespread. 

* * * * * * 

Dan did not wait in Washington while Doctor 
Huntingdon made his report. He came on alone, 
and having missed the boat, took the railroad jour- 
ney down the Cape. In the early September twi- 
light he stepped off the car, feeling as if he were in 
a strange dream. But when he turned into one of 
the back streets leading to his home, it was all so 
familiar and unchanged that he had the stranger 
feeling of never having been away. It was the past 
ten years that seemed a dream. 

He had not realized how he loved the old town 
or the depth of his longing for it, until he saw it 
now, restored to him. Even the familiar, savory 
smells floating out from various supper tables as he 
passed along, gave him keen enjoyment. Some of 
them had been unknown all the time of his wander- 
ings in foreign lands. The voices, the type of fea- 
tures, the dress of the people he passed, the veriest 
triffes which he never noticed when he lived among 


340 Georgina of the Rainbows 

them, thrilled him now with a sense of having come 
back to his own. 

Half a dozen fishermen passed him, their boots 
clumping heavily. He recognized two of them if not 
as individuals, as members of families he had known, 
from their resemblance to the older ones. Then he 
turned his head aside as he reached the last man. 
He was not ready to be recognized himself, yet. He 
wanted to go home first, and this man at the end 
was Peter Winn. He had sailed in his boat many 
a time. 

A cold fog was settling over the Court when he 
turned into it. As silently as the fog itself he stole 
through the sand and in at the gate. The front door 
was shut and the yellow blind pulled down over the 
window, but the lamp behind it sent out a glow, 
reaching dimly through the fog. He crept up close 
to it to listen for the sound of voices, and suddenly 
two blended shadows were thrown on the blind. The 
old man was helping his wife up from her rocking 
chair and supporting her with a careful arm as he 
guided her across to the table. His voice rang out 
cheerfully to the waiting listener. 

“That’s it, Mother! That’s it! Just one more 
step now. Why, you’re doing fine ! I knew the word 
of Danny’s coming home would put you on your feet 
again. The lad’ll be here soon, thank God ! Maybe 
before another nightfall.” 

A moment later and the lamp-light threw another 


Comings and Goings 34 1 

shadow on the yellow blind, plain as a photograph. 
It was well that the fog drew a white veil between it 
and the street, for it was a picture of joy too sacred 
for curious eyes to see. 

Danny had come home! 

* * * * * * 

It was the tenth of September. The town looked 
strangely deserted with nearly all the summer people 
gone. The railroad wharf was the only place where 
there was the usual bustle and crowd, and that was 
because the Dorothy Bradford was gathering up its 
passengers for the last trip of the season. 

Richard was to be one of them, and a most un- 
willing one. Not that he was sorry to be going back 
to school. He had missed Binney and the gang, 
and could hardly wait to begin swapping experiences 
with them. But he was leaving Captain Kidd be- 
hind. Dogs were not allowed in the apartment house 
to which his father and Aunt Letty intended moving 
the next week. 

There had been a sorry morning in the garage 
when the news was broken to him. He crept up into 
the machine and lay down on the back seat, and cried 
and cried with his arms around Captain Kidd’s 
'neck. The faithful little tongue reached out now 
and then to lap away his master’s tears, and once he 
lifted his paw and clawed at the little striped shirt 
waist as if trying to convey some mute comfort. 

“You’re just the same as folks!” sobbed Richard, 


342 Georgina of the Rainbows 

hugging the shaggy head, laid lovingly on his breast. 
“And it’s cruel of ’em to make me give you away.” 

Several days had passed since that unhappy morn- 
ing, however, and Richard did not feel quite so deso- 
late over the separation now. For one thing it had 
not been necessary to give up all claim on Captain 
Kidd to insure him a good home. Georgina had 
gladly accepted the offer of half of him, and had 
coaxed even Tippy into according him a reluctant 
welcome. 

The passengers already on deck watched with in- 
terest the group near the gang-plank. Richard was 
putting the clever little terrier through his whole list 
of tricks. 

“It’s the last time, old fellow,” he said implor- 
ingly when the dog hesitated over one of them. “Go 
on and do it for me this once. Maybe I’ll never see 
you again till I’m grown up and you’re too old to re- 
member me.” 

“That’s what you said about Dan’s coming home,” 
remarked Georgina from under the shade of her 
pink parasol. That parasol and the pink dress and 
the rose-like glow on the happy little face was at- 
tracting even more admiration from the passengers 
than Captain Kidd’s tricks. Barbara, standing be- 
side her, cool and dainty in a white dress and pale 
green sweater and green parasol, made almost as 
much of a picture. 

“You talked that way about never expecting to 


Comings and Goings 343 

see Danny till you were grown,” continued Geor- 
gina, “and it turned out that you not only saw him, 
but were with him long enough to hear some of his 
adventures. It would be the same way about your 
•coming back here if you’d just keep hoping hard 
^enough.” 

“Come Dicky,” called Mr. Moreland from the 
upper deck. “They’re about to take in the gang- 
plank. Don’t get left.” 

Maybe it was just as well that there was no time 
for good-byes. Maybe it was more than the little 
fellow could have managed manfully. As it was his 
voice sounded suspiciously near breaking as he called 
back over his shoulder, almost gruffly: 

“Well you — you be as good to my half of him 
as you are to yours.” 

A moment or two later, leaning over the railing 
of the upper deck he could see Captain Kidd strug- 
gling and whining to follow him. But Barby held 
tightly to the chain fastened to his collar, and Geor- 
gina, her precious pink parasol cast aside, knelt on 
the wharf beside the quivering, eager little body to 
clasp her arms about it and pour out a flood of com- 
. forting endearments. 

Wider and wider grew the stretch of water be- 
tween the boat and the wharf. Richard kept on 
waving until he could no longer distinguish the lit- 
tle group on the end of the pier. But he knew they 
would be there until the last curl of smoke from the 
steamer disappeared around Long Point. 


344 Georgina of the Rainbows 

“Here,” said the friendly voice of a woman stand- 
ing next to him. She had been one of the interested 
witnesses of the parting. She thrust an opera-glass 
into his hands. For one more long satisfying mo- 
ment he had another glimpse of the little group, still 
faithfully waving, still watching. How very, very 
far away they were ! 

Suddenly the glass grew so blurry and queer it 
was no more good, and he handed it back to the 
woman. At that moment he would have given all 
the pirate gold that was ever on land or sea, were it 
his to give, to be back on that pier with the three of 
them, able to claim that old seaport town as his 
home for ever and always. And then the one thing 
that it had taught him came to his help. With his 
head up, he looked back to the distant shore where 
the Pilgrim monument reared itself like a watchful 
giant, and said hopefully, under his breath : 

“Well, some day!” 

* * * * * * 

Georgina, waking earlier than usual that Septem- 
ber morning, looked up and read the verse on the 
calendar opposite her bed, which she had read every 
morning since the month came in. 

“Like ships my days sail swift to port , 

I know not if this he 

The one to hear a cargo rare 

Of happiness to me. 


Comings and Goings 345 

“Blit I do know this time,” she thought exultingly, 
sitting up in bed to look out the window and see what 
kind of ^weather the dawn had brought. This was 
the day her father was coming home. He was com- 
ing from Boston on a battleship, and she and Barby 
'were going out to meet him as soon as it was sighted 
in the harbor. 

She had that quivery, excited feeling which some- 
times seizes travelers as they near the journey’s end, 
as if she herself were a* little ship, putting into a 
long-wished-for port. Well, it would be like that in 
a way, she thought, to have her father’s arms folded 
around her, to come at last into the strange, sweet 
intimacy she had longed for ever since she first saw 
Peggy Burrell and the Captain. 

And it was reaching another long-desired port 
to have Barby’s happiness so complete. As for 
Uncle Darcy he said himself that he couldn’t be 
gladder walking the shining streets of heaven, than 
he was going along that old board-walk with Danny 
beside him, and everybody so friendly and so pleased 
to see him. 

Georgina still called him Danny in her thoughts, 
but it had been somewhat a shock the first time she 
saw him, to find that he was a grown man with a 
grave, mature face, instead of the boy which Uncle 
Darcy’s way of speaking of him had led her to ex- 
pect. He had already been up to the house to tell 
them the many things they were eager to know about 


346 Georgina of the Rainbows 

the months he had spent with Doctor Huntingdon 
and their long trip home together. And listening, 
Georgina realized how very deep was the respect 
and admiration of this younger man for her father, 
and his work, and everything he said made her! 
more eager to see and know him. 

Uncle Darcy and Dan were with them when they 
put out in the motor boat to meet the battleship. It 
was almost sunset when they started, and the man 
at the wheel drove so fast they felt the keen whip 
of the wind as they cut through the waves. They 
were glad to button their coats, even up to their 
chins. Uncle Darcy and Dan talked all the way 
over, but Georgina sat with her hand tightly locked 
in her mother’s, sharing her tense expectancy, never 
saying a word. 

Then at last the little boat stopped alongside the 
big one. There were a few moments of delay before 
Georgina looked up and saw her father coming down 
to them. He was just as his photograph had pic- 
tured him, tall, erect, commanding, and strangely 
enough her first view of him was with his face turned 
to one side. Then it was hidden from her as he 
gathered Barby into his arms and held her close. 

Georgina, watching that meeting with wistful, 
anxious eyes, felt her last little doubt of him vanish, 
and when he turned to her with his stern lips curved 
into the smile she had hoped for, and with out- 
stretched arms, she sprang into them and threw her 


Comings and Goings 347 

arms around his neck with such a welcoming clasp 
that his eyes filled with tears. 

Then, remembering certain little letters which he 
had re-read many times on his homeward voyage, 
{ he held her off to look into her eyes and whisper with 
; a tender smile which made the teasing question a 
joy to her: 

“Which is it now? ‘Dear Sir’ or ‘Dad-o’-my 
heart?’ ” 

The impetuous pressure of her soft little cheek 
against his face was answer eloquent enough. 

As they neared the shore a bell tolled out over 
the water. It was the bell of Saint Peter, patron 
saint of the fisher-folk and all those who dwell by 
the sea. Then Long Point lighthouse flashed a wel- 
come, and the red lamp of Wood End blinked in 
answer. On the other side Highland Light sent its 
great, unfailing glare out over the Atlantic, and the 
old Towncrier, looking up, saw the first stars shin- 
ing overhead. 

Alongshore the home lights began to burn. One 
shone out in Fishburn Court where Aunt Elspeth 
sat waiting. One threw its gleam over the edge of 
the cranberry bog from the window where Belle 
kept faithful vigil — where she would continue to 
keep it until “the call” came to release the watcher 
as well as the stricken old soul whose peace she 
guarded. And up in the big gray house by the break- 
water, where Tippy was keeping supper hot, a supper 




348 Georgina of the Rainbows 

fit to set before a king, lights blazed from every 
window. 

Pondering on what all these lights stood for, the 
old man moved away from the others, and took his 
place near the prow. His heart was too full just 
now to talk as they were doing. Presently he felt a 
touch on his arm. Georgina had laid her hand on it 
with the understanding touch of perfect comrade- 
ship. They were his own words she was repeating 
to him, but they bore the added weight of her own 
experience now. 

“It pays to keep Hope at the prow, Uncle Darcy.” 

“Aye, lass,” he answered tremulously, “it does.” 

“And we’re coming into port with all flags fly- 
ing!” 

“That we are !” 

She stood in silent gladness after that, the rest 
of the way, her curls flying back in the wind made by 
the swift motion of the boat, the white spray dashing 
up till she could taste the salt of it on her lips; a lit- 
tle figure of Hope herself, but of Hope riding 
triumphantly into the port of its fulfillment. It was 
for them all — those words of the old psalm on which 
the rainbow had rested, and which the angel voice 
had sung — “ Into their desired haven ” 


720 A THE END 






















c 0 N c t 


. O a 

*’'>' V** • '. ' 

S , • D <\ -* n , K D V * 

, -o’.v •%, .c • 

*>> ' •■> -* 0 ' , . „ ^t- * • n * 

c ,** \ 



0 ^ 

v * 0 A ^ v 

-<> 

<?V .V, * 

c 7 ^ , ^ x o 

£ 7 


* T j> * £ 

A vv- ~<a " lenaF? ° c* c if ! 

■ ^ oV 

> ‘^gy^r s «V * 

' ' A 6 . , , <U " ° • x 

r\ v « V 1 B b O, 





* V ,# 

■* A ^ p 
* $ 
vOo 


A v 


o o' 




8 l ^ 


r* <v 


fy > np 

^ * ■> M 0 ^0 

„ > Qv ^ Y * 0 

* <A ^ r 

< AA <A ♦awm/Z/i o 


A *- 


y 0 * .V * 


</> 

<A * 

<A > 

*• » O ^ 

V o N C ^ ' * 41 

A a _r-Ws ^ O 

k' ft. 


' 4 -/* 

V^AV- > V* 

' CV v a ^ 

K> ^ V 

A A o 
A A * 


'\ 


0 * k 


A 


\ 


>* v° 


Jk 0 ®, 


\ V s * * >• 

V V S \yv_ * 


O' 1 


A ^ V 

* ,V> V* 


A 


^ * 0 * s „ V I 


A 


,y b 0 ^ 


* 0 V k \ 

* A> 

•* ^ A 

* A ^ = 

AA ® x° ‘A. >■ 

v'*rr r»*.,o° c i> 


O, -V , s S -0 
c 0 N C * * * r$ 

* c A A> 0° A 
,/* ** 


xX V 

O0 


. V c $ <* > M u Kk. 

V s ** > .<r « * 0 

' >^ 5 *f OT^v / 


* o 5 Xi 

^ \' ■a ^ 

"S'?-’ C^v ^ 

^ ♦in 4 \^ s * « t c ^ > 

^ c* V s . * ^ 


* <; 


A *' 


I B 


<>* y 

A o * , 

c"" 1 *, A ** 


*> < 


Oik* A 

.# .« 


A\ “ft < 

^ V s ® ^ 


'’’ A 

41 A 


k 0 ‘ s- 


8 1 


^ VJ *> 

^5- ^ t 

’’'v^'-'sV' 5 "”’/ 4 '» 0 , -‘c- 

*- cA o ^ _ ^ xxxwty// ^ ? 

V> ^ o * A^‘ ^ - 

* V? v» * <y a * 

% A * * ‘ 0 oV ;A* , A / v A oA : 

•y x Jpf] / / A, •? *>^. j\ '- ^ K " v y ^ 

y -js \ ~~ y 'r'/ -A 

« A) 0 N * P-mr&wx'fi * «** > 


’bo ' 1 


, 1 *’ A .. ■%.■*»«.’ '°' 




.** o" 


ft 


«<• 

/. . „ ,_ , 

** V u . V * A A ^ 

*’ *•» A ''A "> 

*’ A av * 

° ^ A 


A o 

;? A> .j 


Oak 


v: 


0 a V 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


